."?,.^>'-^t'^3.'ih''ti.-^ UC-NRLF ^C 3M reading, please re- n. without delay to hnfm Vyi^ %m iMMmMi ■l^'v^ ^ ^■SN^: \ #^' v^, ;^ ,-^:^' .^I'I^Aa V^ \^^ ■ ' M ^m ' '"^S ^eH" V V W^r^^ ^^ ^ -.1 ^'^'-^i^-iim "■ >•» 1 •. . I'll sMOKr your skin-coat, ah i catch yol! right; D'H^A'! LOOK TO'T; I' I AITH , I WILL, I ' FAITH . /in^ John Actll.Sc I. f '' i , JutnI^A.YS. NEW YORK: JOHNSON & MILES, 27 Beekman Street. _ ; ■^-..-i.:, ,,:>.' ! ! Entered, according to Act of Congr^««. Br JOHNSON, FRY, AND COMPANY, In iiie Clerk's Office of the District Conrt of the United States for tb*^ siowtheru District of New York. CONTENTS PAQS KING JOHN 643 KING RICHARD THE SECOND 681 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH 723 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH 769 KING HENRY THE FIFTH 815 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH 859 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH ". 903 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH 951 KING RICHARD THE THIRD 997 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH 1063 f-4^649 §nm[ SntrnhrtinE iistnrirttl l^kp of llmkespfart BY JAMES ORCHARD UALLIWELL. ''PHE historical dramas of Shakespeare, although separately they are examples of his high drjunatic art, are so connected with one another, it appeared preferable to unite our observations upon them into one Introduction, rather than make discursive notes upon each ; and, by this arrangement, we ehall be better enabled to place the poet's continuity of design in a clearer point of view. It is obvious that the subject will readily admit of unnatural expansion, and, indeed, scarcely a single Editor escapes falling into the temptation of mixing historical discussion with his observations on these plays; but this is unquestionably a course that may be better dispensed with ; for Shakespeare merely adopted the statements of the English chronicles without any hesitation, or, if differing from them, only in cases where tradition or popular sources had furnished him with other versions, in the same way that, in his Comedies, he availed himself of contemporary novels. The object was to turn these chronicles into regular historical dramas. It is, therefore, quite idle to refer to the authentic data of history in opposition to the pictures of the times recorded by the great dramatist. The first in order of the historical plays. King John, was founded on an earlier drama called " The first and second part of the troublesome Reign of John, King of England," which was first published in 1591. Shakespeare probably wrote his play shortly after that year, but no quarto edition of it is known to exist, and it is first mentioned by Meres in the year 1598. It is worthy of remark, that much of the ridicule against the monks and nuns in the older play has been altogether omitted by Shakespeare, who has, in fact, generally improved the incidents ; but no comparison can be insti- tuted between the two pieces. King John was not printed till the foho of 1623 made its appearance. The next play in order, JRichard the Second, was printed no less than four times during the author's life; first in 1597, under the title of, " The Tragedie of King Richard the Second, as it hath beene pubHkely acted by the Right Honourable the Lorde Chamberlaine his servants : London, Printed by Valentine Simmes for Andrew Wise, and are to be sold at his shop in Paules Church-yard at the sigiie of the Angel." This edition ' i does not contain that portion of the fourth act in which Richard is introduced to make the surrender of his crown, which first appeared in the quarto of 1608, which is entitled, "The Tragedie of King 628 i 1 I Richard the Second, toith new additions of the Parliament sceane, and the Deposing of King Richard^ as it hath been lately acted by the Kinges Majesties servantes at the Globe." Mr. Knight seems to be of opinion that there are sufficient similarities between the story of Richard the Second^ as related in Daniel's 'Civ-il Warres,' 1595, and Shakespeare's plays, to warrant the belief either that the poem of Daniel was known to Shakespeare, or that the play of Shakespeare was known to Daniel ; but the coincidences he has pointed out are scarcely strong enough to warrant such a conclusion. The next plays in order, the two parts of Henry IV., are unquestionably the most original of Shakespeare's historical dramas ; or, in other words, to avoid ambiguity, he was not so deeply indebted in those two plays to the labours of previous dramatists. We recognise in them the forms only of the old compositions; and they have undergone so complete a transformation, in passing through his hands, that little else than the title and general character can be traced. These still remain in an old play entitled "The famous victories of King Henry the Fifth," which has been satisfactorily proved to have been written before the year 1588. The connexion which exists betv/een a character in that production. Sir John Oldcastle, and Shakespeare's ever-famous fat knight, is a subject to which I wish to draw the particular attention of the reader. I propose to discuss, and I hope I shall be, able satis- factorily to set at rest a question which has arisen, grounded on a tradition of no earher date than the commencement of the eighteenth century, whether Shakespeare in the first instance borrowed the name as well as amplified the character of the above-mentioned nobleman, who is so highly distinguished in the history of the reformed religion. This question does not in any way affect the fame of Shakespeare. It may be good policy to premise this, for I observe with regret that there are many leaders of our inmiortal poet's works who, without a knowledge of the subject, despise the literature and criticism which have set the emanations of his genius in their true historical light, and who are also greatly avei-se to the idea of accusing Shakespeare of being indebted to previous writers for any portion of the material on which he has founded his dramas. I am now alluding to the general reader, and* not to those who, with a competent knowledge of contemporary literature, have jnade it a matter of study. Among the numerous readers of Shakespeare with whom I have had the fortune to converse, I have never yet found one who did not consider him, in the words of an author who ought to have known better, as " the great poet whom nature framed to disregard the wretched models that were set before him, and to create a drama from his own native and original stores." The real fact is, that no dramatist ever made a freer use of those " wretched models" than Shakespeare. It may safely be said that not a single plot of any of his dramas is entirely his own. It is true that the sources of some of his plays have not yet been discovered, but they are those that we know he would not have invented, leaving the capability of doing so out of the question. There can, at any rate, be no doubt that all the historical plays which are ascribed to Shakespeare were on the stage before his time, and that he was employed by the managers to remodel and repair them, taking due care to retain the names of the characters, and preserve the most popular incidents. In two parts of Henry IV., as I have observed above, he has so completely repaired the old model, that they may almost be considered in the light of original dramas. I can scarcely imagine a more interesting subject for literary enquiry than the tracing out the originals of these plays, and the examination of the particular loci where the master-hand of Shakespeare has commenced his own labours; yet it is a study so inadequately .encouraged, and so little valued, that few have the courage to enlist in its cause. The public appear to consider it an obstacle, rather than otherwise, to the free reading of his works, and wonder more especially what possible connexion there can be between literary history and romantic dramas. It was but recently that one of our most learned and acute critics in this way was pronounced a perfect barbarian — a savage without a poetical soul, because he fixed by historic wand the scene of Prospero's enchantments. The master-stroke of the photogenic art was thought unfavourable to the interests of true poetry, and a " local habitation and a name" incompatible with the nature of the theme. Surely, in common fairness, the " still-vex'd Bermoothes" ought to be expunged, and all the earthly concomitants deposited, like Lampedusa, in ethereal uncertainty. But do we, as Mr. Hunter asks, by researches such as these, lose any particle of the admiration in which we hold Shakespeare ? If the positive be maintained, there is at least a satisfaction in knowing what is the real fact ; and there is a love of truth, as well as a love of Shakespeare, and a homage due 624 HISTORICAL I'LAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. to both. A careful historian would pause, no matter how strong the evidence was, before he would attribute to any genius, however vast, the mighty revolutions in poetry or science which are vulgarly ascribed to Shakespeare. The labours of successive, or more rarely, combined minds, aione are able tc accomplish such things. When Pope said — Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night : God said, " Let Newton be," and all was light ! be expressed himself very eloquently ; and the opinion implied in the couplet has become a populai dogma. But Newton owed as much to Kepler as Shakespeare did to Marlowe ; and Coleridge could not have been far wrong when he extended the weight of those obligations even beyond the boundary usually adopted by professed critics. In plain words, Shakespeare did not invent — he perfected a drama already ennobled by the labours of others ; and the history of that drama forms a very curious and important epoch in our vernacular literature. Plays were ascribed to Plautus, if we may believe Aulus Gellius, which he only retouched and polished. They were, to use his own expression, retractatce et expoUtoe. It was so also with Shake- speare ; but hwi now would be guilty of ascribing that " drum and trumpet" thing, called the " First Part of Heniy VI., to his pen, written doubtlessly before he entered the arena of dramatic competi- tion, though it may have been afterwards slightly revised by him. I can see little evidence or reason for including it in his works, but as it is inserted as a genuine play, I will take it as a document in the history of his historical dramas, rather than consider it to have any necessary connexion with them. To tax Shakespeare with the character of Fastolf, as exhibited in that play, is an absolute libel on his genius. Who indeed can reasonably accuse him of introducing the same character in Henry VI., whose death he had described in Henry V. in a manner so remarkable ? There is not, in fjxct, anv ground for believing that the characters of Fastolf and FalstafF have any connexion whatever with each other. I much doubt whether Shakespeare even had the former in his memory, when he changed the name, as I shall afterwards show, of Oldcastle to FalstatF; and I think it extremely probable that the latter name might have been inserted merely for the purpose of marking one of the principal ti'aits in his character. Yet we find historians and journalists constantly giving countenance to this vulgar en-or, and Fastolf is mentioned as the prototype of Falstaff with as much positiveness as though he were an actual original of a genuine historical character. Mr. Beltz, in his recent work on the Order of the Garter, and a reviewer of that book in a literary journal of high pretensions, have fallen into the same error. The point is of importance, because it affects a good deal of our reasoning on the sources of Shakespeare's most celebrated historical plays ; and we are surprised to find so many writers ot reputation giving their authority to the common mistake. This leads us to old Fuller, who was one of the earliest delinquents. In speaking ui Sir John Fastolt^ he says : I i To avouch him by many arguments valiant, is to maintain that the sun is bright, though since the stage hath been overbold with his memory, making him a thrasonical puj', and emblem of mock valour. True it is, Sir John Oldcastle did first bear the brunt of the one, being made the make-sport in all play> for a coward. It is easily known out of what purse this black penny came ; the Papists railing on him for a heretick, and therefore he must also be a coward, though indeed he was a man of arms, every inch of him, and as valiant as any in his age. Now as I am glad that Sir John Oldcastle is put out, so I am sorry that Sir John Fastolfe is put in, to relieve hin memory in this base service, to be the anvil for every dull wit to strike upon. Nor is our comedian excusable by Bome alteration of his name, writing him Sir John Falstafe, and making him the property of pleasure for King Henry the Fifth to abuse, seeing the vicinity of sounds intrench on the memory of that worthy knight — and few do heed the inconsiderable difierence in spelling of their names. This extract from Fuller, a very credible writer, will of itself go a considerable way toward* establisliing the truth of Rowe's tradition ; but I have other and more important documents lo latro- duce to the notice of the reader, by means of which I hope to be enabled to prove — ^ 625 n GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE 1. That the stage was in the possession of a rude outline of FalstafF before Shakespeare wrote either part ot Henry IV., under the name of Sir John Oldcastle. 2. That the name of Oldcastle was retained for a time in Shakespeare's Henry IV., but changed to Falstaff before the play was printed. 3. That, in all probability, some of the theatres, in acting Henry IV., retained the name of Oldcastle after the author had made the alteration. 4. That Shakespeare probably made the change before the year 1593. I must leave the consideration of the first of these propositions, until I have examined the second, because in this case the similarity consists rather in the adoption of the same dramatis personce and subject by Shakespeare and his predecessors, than in the manner in which they are treated. My first witness for the truth of the second problem, which, with the others, I hope to transform into theorems, is one whose veracity is unimpeachable, because he could have had no possible object in pubhshing an untruth — I mean Dr. Richard James, librarian to Sir Robert Cotton, a contemporary of Shakespeare, and an intimate friend of " rare " Ben Jonson. He may thus, through the latter dramatist, have had access to the very best sources of information for the account which he gives in the following dedicatory epistle, prefixed to his work entitled ' The Legend and Defence of the Noble Knight and Martyr, Sir John Oldcastel,' never published, but preserved with his other manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, and which undoubtedly is a most valuable independent testimony in favour of the truth of Rowe's tradition. To my noble friend Sir Renrye Bourchier. Sir Han-ie Bourchier, yoa are descended of Noble Ancestrie, and in the dutie of a good man, loue to heare and see fairo reputation preserved from slander and oblivion. Wherefore to you I dedicate this edition of Ocleve, where Sir John Oldcastell apeeres to have binnc a man of valour and vertue, and onely lost in his own times because he would not bowe under the foule superstition of Papistrie. from whence in so great light of Gosple and learning that there is not yet a more universal! departure is to me the greatest scorne of men. But of this more in another place, and in preface will you please to heare me that which follows. A young Gentle Ladie of your acquaintance, having read the works of Shakespeare, made me this question : How Sir John Falstaffe, or Fastolf, as it is written in the statute book of Maudlin Colledge in Oxford, where everye daye that socictie were bound to make memories of his soule, could be dead in Harrie the Fifts time and againe Hue in the time of Harrie the Sixt to be banisht for eowardize ? Whereto I made answeare that this was one of those humours and mistakes for which Plato banisht all Poets out of his commonwealth, that Sii John Falstaflfe was in those times a noble valiant soldier, as apeeres by a book in the Herald's office dedicated vnto him by a herald who had binne with him if I well remember for the space of twenty-five yeeres in the French wars : that he seemes allso to haue binne a man of learning because in a librarie of Oxford 1 finde a book of dedicating churches sent from him for a present vnto Bishop Wainflete and inscribed with his owne hand. That in Shakespeare's first show of Harrie the Fifth, the person with which he undertook to playe a buflfone was not Falstafie, but Sir John Oldcastle, and that offence beinge worthily taken by personages descended from his title, as peradventure by manie others also who ought to have him in honourable memorie, the poet was putt to make an ignorant shifte of abusing Sir John Falstophe, a man not inferior of virtue though not so famous in pietie as the other, who gaue witnesse unto the trust of our reformation with a constant and resolute martyrdom, vnto which he was pursued by the Priests, Bishops, Monks, and Friers of those dayes. Noble sir, this is all my preface. God keepe you, and me, and all Christian people from the bloodie designes of that cruel religion. Yours in all observance Rich. Jaues. With respect to this important letter, it will be observed that, by the " first showe of Harrie the Fifth," James unquestionably means Shakespeare's Henry IV. He could not have confused Shake- speare's play with " The Famous Victories," for in the latter drama the nomen of the character of Oldcastle had not been altered. The " young gentle ladie" had read the works of Shakespeare, most probably the folio edition, and it is not at all likely she would have alluded to a play which had then been entirely superseded. James and his lady friend also confuse the charactei-s of Fastolf and Falstaff, another example of the unfortunate circumstance of the poet choosing i name so similar to that of the real hero. Dr. James died at the close of the year 1638, and consequently the work, from which I have quoted the letter given above, must have been composed either in Shakespeare's life-time, or shortly after his 626 I ! 1 I # HISTORICAL PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. death. On a careful comparison of the handwriting with other of his papei*s which are dated, T came to the conclusion that 1625 was the year in which the manuscript was written. This, however, must not by any means be considered conclusive ; but a few years either way are not of great conse- quence. I have not succeeded in discovering the date of Bourchier's death, the person to whom the dedi- catory epistle is addressed, or I might perhaps have been enabled to compress the uncertain date within even narrower limits. I have said that Dr. James, whom Wood calls " a humourous person," was intimate with Ben Jonson. I derive my knowledge of this fact from the papers of the former in the Bodleian Library, but I was disappointed in my expectation of finding notices of other dramatists Jonson is frequently spoken of in high terms, and in one letter particularly he receives the greatest compliment from James that one scholar could pay to another : — *' Jam partres illi lihenter spectarent ingenium foecundissimi Benjamini Jonsoni^ quem^ et Thuanus de Petro Bonsardo, censeo cum omni antiquitate comparandum, si compia et plena sensihus poemata ejus et scenica septemus." When Jon son's "Staple of News" was produced in 1625, the Doctor addressed him poetically in the following lines, which are here ^ven from the same collection of manuscripts : — lb Mr. Benj. Johnson, on his Staple of News first presented. Sir, if my robe and garbe were richly worth The daringe of a statutes comming forth, Were I a man of law or law-maker. Or man of courte to be an undertaker. For judgment would I then comme in and say The manye honours of your staple play : But being nothing so, I dare not haile The mightie floates of ignorance, who saile With winde and tide, — their Sires, as stories tell, In our eighth Harrie's time crown'd Skelton's Nell, And the foule Bess of Whittington with greene Bayes, which on living. tronkes are rarelye scene, Soone sprung, soone fading, but deserving verse, Must take more lasting glorie from the herse ; When vulgars loose their sight, and sacred peeres Of poetrie conspire to make your yeeres Of memorie eternall, then you shal be read By all our race of Thespians, board and bed, And banke and boure, vallie and mountaine will Rejoice to knowe sommo pieces of your skill ! Tour rich Mosaique workea, indeed by arte And curious industry with everie parte And choice of all the ancients, so I write. Though for your sake I dare not say and fighte. I ! This : rief digression fi*om our immediate argument is not without its use, because it satisfactorily shows that Dr. James was acquainted with one of the leading men in the drama of the time, and of course renders his testimony on such a subject of more than ordinary value. I will now proceed to give other, though less important, authorities for the truth of my second proposition ; and joined with those already placed before the reader's notice, they will be found, I think, sufficient to place that conclusion ceyond a doubt. My first extract is from a tract entitled " The Meeting of Gallants at an Ordinarie, or the Walkes in Powles," 4to. London, 1604. The only known copy of this work is in Malone's collection in the Bodleian Library ; some gallants are " entering into the ordinarie," when the following dialogue takes olace between one of them and the " fatte hoste :" — Host. What, Gallants, are you come ? arc you come ? welcome, gentlemen ; I have newes enough for ye all ; welcome againe ; and againe : I am so fatte and pursie, I cannot speake loude enough, but I am sure you heare mee, or you shall aeare me: Welcome, welcome, Gentlemen! I haue Tales, and Quailes for you; seate yourscluea, Gallantes; entei IJoyes and Beardea, with dishes and Platters; I will be with you againe in a trice ere you looke for me. 621 Siff. Shuttlecoclce. Now, Signiors, how like you mine Host ? did I not tell you he was a madde round knaue, and a menie one too : and if you chaunce to talke of fatte Sir John Old-castle, he wil tell you he was his great grandfather, and not much vnlike him in Paunch, if you marke him well by all descriptions ; and see where hee appeares againe. Hee told you he would not be longe from you ; let this humour haue scope enough, I pray, and there is no doubt but his Tales will make vs laugh ere we be out of our Porridge. This merely shows that Sir John Oldcastle had been represented somewhere or other as a fat man, but I know of no existing account of any such representation, unless the supposition of the identity between Falstaff and Oldcastle be correct. My next extract is to the same effect, and is taken from a pamphlet entitled " The Wandering Jew telling Fortunes to Englishmen," 4to. Lond. 1640, p. 38, which was certainly written before the year 1630. The character Glutton is speaking : — Your Lordship this faire morning is to fight. And for your honour. Did you never see The play whecre the fat knight, hight Oldcastle, Did tell you truely what this honour was? This single passage will alone render my third proposition highly probable, viz.^ that some of the theatres, in acting Henry IV., retained the name of Oldcastle after the author had altered it to that of Falstaff. Early in the year 1600 appeared 'The first part of the true and honourable history of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the gocd Lord Cobham, as it hath bene lately acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Nottingham Lord High Admiral of England, his servants. Written by William Shake- speare,' 4to. Lond. The name of the author is supposititious, and now it is a matter of wonder how BO glaring an imposition could have been suffered to pass unpunished, and even unnoticed. Such works were then of much less moment than they are now. Bodley, who was then forming his collection, Classes plays under the head of "rifle raffes," and declares "they shall never come into mie librarie." It is possible, however, that Shakespeare may liave edited this play, but, if he allowed his name to be put on the title-page, it shows a carelessness for his own reputation, of which there are but too many instances. The speech of Lord Cobham (Sir John Oldcastle) to the King, at p. 27, may confirm my conjecture. My gracious lord, unto vcur mnjesty. Next unfo my God, I owe my life ; Ana what is mine, either by nature's gift, Or fortune's bounty, all is at your service; A chaire, a chaire, sweet master Jew, a chaire. All that I say is this, — I 'm a fat man. It has been a West Indian : ! voyage for me to come reeking hither. A kitchen-stuffe wench might pick up a living by following me for the fat which : j I loose in stradling. I doe not live by the sweat of my brows, but am almost dead with sweating. I eate much, but can I I talke little. Sir John Oldcastle was my great-grandfather's father's uncle, — I come of a huge kindred 1 And of you ; desire to learne whether my fortune be to die a yeare or two hence, or to grow bigger, if I continue as I doe in feeding, • | for my victuals I cannot leave. Say, say, merciful Jew, what shall become of me? j j !i Again I have recourse to Fuller, who, in another work, repeats what he said before, but asserting ; j more distinctly that the character of Falstaff was substituted for that of Oldcastle : — Stage poets haue themselues been very bold with, and others very merry at, the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, whom the have fancied a boon companion, a jovial royster, and yet a coward to boot contrary to the credit of all chroni- cles, owning him a martial man of merit. The best is Sir John Falstaflfe hath relieved the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, and of late is substituted buffone in his place, but it matters as little what petulant poets as what malicious Papists hauo written against him. In 'Amends for Ladies,* 4to. Lond. 1639, a play by Nathaniel Field, which according to Mr. Collier, could not have been written before 1611, Falstaff's description of honour is mentioned by a citizen of London as if it had been delivered by Sir John Oldcastle : — 1 doe heare ! I ^^' HISTORICAL PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. But for obedience to the pope of Rome, I owe him none ; nor shall his shaveling priests That are in England, alter my belief. If out of Holy Scripture they can prove That I am in error, I will yield, And gladly take instruction at their hands : But otherwise, I do beseech your Grace My conscience may not be encroach' d upon. These, 1 think, are the only lines in the whole play which could with any probability be ascribed to Shakespeare, and even they possess but slender claims. The prologue contains an argument for two of the propositions I have been endeavouring to establish. It is as follows : — The doubtful tide (Gentlemen) preflxt Upon the argument we hauc in hand, May breed suspense, and wrongfully disturbe The peacefull quiet of your settled thoughts : To stop which scruple, let this breefe suffice. It is no pamper'd glutton we present. Nor aged Councellour to youthfuU sinne : But one, whose vertue shone aboue the rest, A valiant Martyr, and a vertuous Pecre, In whose true faith and loyalty exprest Unto his Soueraigne, and his countries weale We Btriue to pay that tribute of our loue Your fauours merit : Let faire Truth be grac'd, Since forg'd invention former time defac'd. If we now turn to the following scene in the same play, we shall find that the change in the name of Shakespeare's knight must have been made about the same time. The king in disguise has just met with Sir John, the thieving parson of Wrotham, when this dialogue takes place : — ! I Priest. Stand, true man, says a thief. Khig. Stand, thief, says a true man. How, if a thief? Priest. Staud, thief, too. King. Then, thief or true man, I must stand, I see. However the world wags, the trade of thieving yet will never down. What art thou ? Priest. A good fellow. King. So am I too ; I see thou dost know me. Priest. If thou be a good fellow, play the good fellow's part. Deliver thy purse without more ado. King. I have uo money. Priest, I must make you find some before we part. If you have no money, you shall have ware, as many sound blows as your skin can carry. King. Is that the plain truth ? Priest. Sirrah, no more ado. Come, come, give me money you have. Dispatch, I cannot stand all day. King. Well, if thou wilt needs have it, there it is. Just the proverb, one thief robs another. Where the devil are all my old thieves ? Falstaffe, that villaine, is so fat, he cannot get on 's horse ; but methinks Poins and Peto should be stirring hereabouts. Priest. How much is there on 't, of thy word ? Kin^. A hundred pound in angels, on my word : the time has been I would have done as much for thee, if thou hadst past this vray as I have now. Priest, Sirrah, what art thou ? Thou seemst a gentle- man. King. I am no less ; yet a poor one now, for thou hast all my money. Priest. From whence camst thou ? King. From the court at Eltham. Priest. Art thou one of the king's servants ? King. Yes, that I am, and one of his chamber. Priest. I am glad thou'rt no worse. Thou mayst the better spare thy money ; and think thou mightst get a poor thief his pardon, if he should have need ? King. Yes, that I can. Priest. Wilt thou do so much for me, when I shall have occasion ? King. Yes, faith, will I, so it be for no murder. Priest. Nay, I am a pitiful thief. All the hurt I do a man, I take but his purse. I '11 kill no man. King. Then of my word I '11 do it. Priest. Give me thy hand of the same. King. There 't is. Priest. Methinks the king should be good to thieves, because he has been a thief himself, although I think now he be turn'd a true man. King. Faith, I have heard he has had an ill name that way in 's youth-; butriiow canst thou tell that ho has becD thief ? Priest. How ? Because he once robb'd me before I fell to the trade myself, when that villanous guts that led him to all that roguery was in 's company there, that Fal- staflF. 629 GENERAL INTRODUCTION ']"0 THE I next consider the internal evidence in Shakespeare's plays themselves that Oldcastle on ve sup- plied the place of Falstaff. Every one will remember the rout of Falstaff and his companions by the Prince and Poins, near Gadshill, when Henry tiiumphantly exclaims — Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned ; Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along. Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. It will be seen that in the fifth line a foot is actually deficient, and Oldcastle^ instead of Falstaff, would perfectly complete the metre. It is time that some other explanation might be offered, perhaps equally plausible ; but it is at any rate a singular coincidence, that in the veiy fi"st place where the name Falstaff" occurs in the text, an additional syllable should be required. In the second scene of the first act, Falstaff" asks the Prince, " Is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ?" Prince Henry answers, " As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castled I consider this to be a pun, in the original play as first written, on the name of Sir John Oldcastle. The commentators say this passage was transferred from the old play ; but, as Master Ford observes, " I cannot put off" my opinion so easily." I am confirmed in my conjecture by a passage in the play of • Sir John Oldcastle,' where there is a similar play upon words : — There 's one, they call him sir John Oldcastle, He has not his name for nought ; for like a castle Doth he encompass them within his walls. But till that castle be subverted quite, We ne'er shall be at quiet in the realm. I now beg to call the reader's particular attention to a passage in Pan 2, Act iii., scene 2, which affords undeniable proof that the name of Oldcastle once occupied the place which Falstaff" now holds. Shallow is recalling reminiscences of his younger days, and he brings Falstaff" in among other wild companions : Then was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. It was Sir John Oldcastle, and not Falstaff, who was page to that nobleman, Shakespeare could not have fallen into an error by following the older play, because the circumstance is not there mentioned ; and it would be arming oneself against the force of evidence, which already is so overpowering on the opposite side, to class this among Shakespeare's historical blunders. I do not consider it necessary in this place to multiply references to the old chroniclers, in support of my assertion, that the historical fact, to which Shakespeare alludes in this passage, applies to Oldcastle, and not to Falstaff". One will te sufficient, and I have selected the following extract from Weever's ' Poetical Life of Oldcastle, 12 mo., Lond. 1601, where he is introduced speaking in his own person : — Within the spring-tide of my flowring youth, • He (the father) stept into the winter of his age ; Made meanes (Mercurius thus begins the truth) Tliat I was made Sir Thomas Mowbrai's page. Perhaps, however, the conclusion of the epilogue to the two plays furnishes us with the most Jecisive evidence that Shakespeare had delineated a character under the name of Oldcastle, which had ^ven off'ence, confirming the tradition handed down to us by Rowe, and the relation given by Dr. James : — «S0 One word more, I beseech yoi . If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will continue the story with Sir John in it, and make you merry with fair Katherine of France : where, for anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already ho be killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a mt.rtyr, and this is not the man. It is unnecessary to pursue this subject further. The other notices I have collected are mere repetitions of what are given above, and add little weight to the general evidence. I have now only my fourth position to defend, for I shall pass over my first proposition, as a point already decided, with a reference to Mr. Collier's work on the English stage, who gives it as his opinion that Shakespeare was indebted for the "bare hint" of the delightful creation of FalstaflFto the old play of "The Famou? Victories," and nothing more. There must of course be great unceitainty in fixing the precise date when Shakespeare made the alteration in the name of the character of his fat knight ; and my conjecture on this point depends entirely upon my opinion on the date of the composition of another play — the Merry Wives oj Windsor. Believing the first sketch of that play to have been written in the year 1593, the name of Oldcastle must have been changed to Falstafi" before that sketch was written. Everything tends to prove this. For instance, the first metrical piece which occurs in it could not have been written with the former name : — And I to Ford will likewise tell How Falstaff, varlet vile. Would haue her love, his dove would prove, And eke his bed defile. It may be objected that, as the Merry Wives has little or no necessary connexion with the historical plays — as we have no certain evidence to show whether it was written before or after the two parts of Henry IV., the settlement of the question of names, if I may so express myself, in the former, is no guide whatever to the period at which the change was made in the other plays. In reply, I must confess this position is hypothetical, unless my readers agree with me in believing the Merry IVivcs to have been written after the Second Part of Henry IV., and before Henry V., a subject which it would be irrelevant to discuss in this place. The First Part oi Henry IV. was entered at Stationers' Hall on Feb. 25tli, 159Y-8, under the title of, " A booke intitled the Historye of Henry the iiijth, with his battaile at Shrewsburye against Henry Hottspure of the Northe, with the conceipted mirth of Sir John Falstafi'e." Falstaff" was the name, then, at least as early as the year 1597. After this period we have frequent allusions to the character, Ben Jonson, in the epilogue to "Every Man out of his Humour," acted in 1599, thus alludes to the "thrasonical puflf:" — Marry, I will not do as Plautus in his Amphytric, for all this, " Summim Jovis causa plaudite, beg a plaudite, for God's sake ; but if you, out of the bounty of vour good-liking, will bestow it, why you may in time make lean Maci- lente as fat as Sir John Falstaff, I will give one more example of the Knight's popularity from Roger Sharpe's " More Fooles Yot," 4to., Lond. 1610 :— In Virosum. How Falstaffe like doth swel J Virosus looke, As though his paunch did foster every sinne ; And sweares he is injured by this booke, — His worth is taxt, he hath abused byn : Swell still, Virosus, burst with emulation, I neither taxe thy vice nor reputation. It would not be difficult to multiply similar extracts, Mr, Collier has printed a document which shows how FalstaflF was probably attired for the stage at this early period, which is attested by the creditable name of Inigo Jones. A character is to be dressed " like a Sir John I alstaff, in a roabe of russett, quite low, with a great belley, like a swolen man, long moustacheos, the sheows shorte, and out of them great toes, like naked feete : buskins to sheaw a great swolen leg." Thus it would GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE Bcom that size has always been the prevailing characteristic of FalstafF's tlieatiicril appiaiance. This consideration leads me to remark that the character of Oldoastle, as exhibited in " The Famous Victories," could not by itself have developed so popular and general a notion of " hugeness," as that suggested in the extracts I have given relative to him or Falstaff. On the whole, theu, independently of the entire evidence being in its favour, I think the account given by Dr. James would be the most plausible conjecture we could form, were we without the aid of that evidence. The only objection, as far as I can see, which can be raised against the veracity of Dr. James's account, is the slight discrepancy I have previously mentioned. My own faith is not at all shaken by this circumstance, because he was repeating from memory the doubts of another, as he had heard them in conversation, and was probably more solicitous of placing the question in a position to enable him to defend his hero Oldcastle, than of giving a correct version of what he considered an error in Shakespeare. I cannot think that he would have introduced Shakespeare in the manner in which he has, if he had not been pretty certain of the truth of the anecdote. Fastolf, too, was an Oxford man, and he resents his supposed degradation under the title of Falstaff. His successors were apparently impressed with the same notion. Warton tells us that the " magnificent knight. Sir John I I Falstaff, bequeathed estates to Magdalen College, part of which were appropnated to buy liveries for I I some of the senior scholars; but the benefactions in time yielding no more than a penny a week to ; the scholars who received the liveries, they were called, by way of contempt, Falstaff' s huckram inxenr I An anonymous and inedited poet of the early part of the seventeenth century, w.hose MS. works ' were foixnerly in the possession of Oldys, and are now in the valuable library of my friend, the Rev Thomas Corser, complains sadly of Shakespeare for a similar reason : — Here to evince that scandal has been thrown Upon a name of honour, charactrecl From a wrong person, coward and buffoon ; Call in your easy faiths, from what you 've read To laugh at Falstaffe ; as a humour fram'd To grace the stage, to please the age, misnam'd. No longer please yourselves to injure names > Who lived to honour: if, as who dare breathe A syllable from Harry's choice, the fames, Conferr'd by princes, may redeem from death ? Live Fastolffe then ; wliose trust and courage once Merited the first government in France. Henry IV. was an extremely popular play from its first appearance, no less than five editions of it having been printed during the author's lifetime ; and the only contemporary manuscript of any of Shakespeare's plays known to exist is a condensation of the two parts of Henry IV. made into one drama, for the convenience of representjition before a private audience. This very curious relio was found in the archives of Sir Edward Dering, Bart., by the Rev. L. B. Larking, and Sir Edward very kindly lent it to me for several weeks. It contains veiy few readings of great importance, but as an j j unique Shakespearian relic it cannot be too highly estimated. { I Henry V. was first surreptitiously published in the year 1600, under the title of, " The Chronicle I History of Henry the Fift, with his battell fought at Agin Court in France : togither with Auntient j Pistoll : as it hath been sundry times playd by the Right Honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his I servants: Loudon, Printed by Thomas Creede for Tho. Milliugton and John Busby." The author's name is not given, and Mr. CoUier is of opinion that fill the early editions in quarto were published entirely without the author's consent. They are very impeifect, compared with the amended play in the foHo: but there can be little doubt that Shakespeare corrected and altered it, after its first composition. Mr. Collier considers that it was first produced in its original form in 1599, and that it was enlarged and amended in the form in which it is now read, shortly before 1605, early in which year it was performed before the court at Whitehall. 682 The first part of Henry VI. is generally considered to be only partially the work of ShakespearOv and I have previously avowed my disbelief of the light attribution of it to him as an entire work. It appeal's in the first folio, but beyond this circumstance, we can only judge of the matter by internal evidence. The second and third parts are found in their primitive form in an old play in two parts, called, " The Contention of the two famous houses of York and Lancaster," entered on the books of the Stationers' Company in 1602, as the 2nd and 3rd parts of Henry VL, which is a mistake for the first and second parts of the " Contention ;" and we accordingly find that when Blount and •laggard, in 1623, inserted a list of Shakespeare's plays " as are not formerly entered to other men," they omitted the first and second parts of Henry VL, and only inserted " The Thirde Parte of Henry the Sixt." In the same way, vre find they did not insert " King John " in the same list, although there is no reason to suppose that any copy of that play in its present form had previously been entered. The probable inference is, that the list was hastily compiled from the previous entries Millington, it appeai-s, kept possession of the " Whole Contention," as Pavier aftenvards called it, till 1602. There seems something mysterious in the wovAs,^'' salvo juris cujuscumquej'' v/lxich. occur in the entry above mentioned ; and it may be asked why Pavier kept them so long without a republication, as they were not reprinted till 1619. The entry is, however, important, for it clearly shows that, as early as 1602, the present title of "Heniy VI." had superseded the older one. These two plays are, I believe, the First Sketches of the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. ; but it is a question with the critics whether Shakespeare was their author, or whether he merely borrowed from some older dramatist. The external evidence is in favour of Malone's theory, that Shakespeare was not the author of them. They appear to have been, as I have said, in the hands of Millington till 1602, and they were then transferred to Pavier, who retained them till 1626. Millington and Pavier managed between them to monopolize nearly the whole of Shakespeare's disputed plays. Thus Millington had the "First Part of the Contention," the "Chronicle History," and the "True Tragedie," which he transfeired to Pavier in 1600 and 1602. In addition to these, Pavier also had "Sir John Oldcastle," "Titus Andronicus," "The Yorkshire Tragedy," "The Puritan," and " Peiicles," all of which seem to be suspicious plays, to say the least of them. Again : Millington, who published these plays in 1594, 1595, and 1600, did not put the name of Shakespeare to them, though it would have been for his advantage to have done so. After the year 1598, none of the undisputed plays of Shakespeare were published without having his name conspicuously inserted on the title, and only three were ever published without his name, two in 1597, and one in 1598, although, between the years 1598 and 1655, forty-four quarto editions appeared with the authorship clearly announced. In 1600, when Millington published the two parts of the "Contention" without Shakespeare's name, six undisputed plays were published mth his name, and seven disputed plays without ; but Pavier was afterwards bolder, and out of the twenty-four editions of the disputed plays published between the years 1591 and 1635, we find eight with Shakespeare's name. This, however, was after 1609. The probabihty, therefore, is, that the first part of the " Contention," and the " True Tragedy," were pubhshed piratically, and altogether without Shakespeare's authority, if he had any share in them. In 1626, Pavier assigned to Edward Biewster and Robert Bird his right in the disputed plays, and we hear again of the two parts of the " Contention," for the last time, on November 8th, 1630, as " Yorke and Lancaster," when they were assigned to Richard Cotes by Mr. Bird and consent of a full court. The first edition of the " True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York," as the second part of the " Contention" was originally called, does not appear to have been entered at Stationers' Hall, and it is probable that there is a secret history attached to its publication that remains to be unravelled. The first thing that strikes us is its title, and the reason why it was not published as the " Second Part of the Contention" till 1619. The title-page affirms it to contain "the whole Contention." Could this have been done for the purpose of deception ? We may, however, infer that the amended plays appeared after 1595, and before 1602, or it is probable that the old titles would not ha/e been retained. Perhaps, however, the same argument holds with respect to the edition of 1600, and t^M would place the date of the amended plays within a very narrow compass. There are some reasons s" 638 GENERAL INTRODUCllON TO THE for thinking that the Third Part of Henry VI. y in the form in which we now have it, wa^ vrriiten before 1598, as, in one of the stage directions in the firet folio, we have Gabriel, an actor, lonodiiced, who, according to Mr. Collier, was killed by Ben Jonson in the September of that year. The Third Pait of Henry VI. also introduces Sinklo, another actor, in a similar manner, who |>o:formed in Tarlton's play of the " Seven Deadly Sins," and who probably, therefore, did not «ai'vive the year 1598. It is reasonable to suppose that the editors of the first folio used copies trauscribed when those actors performed. The constant offences against grammar which occur in these early copies mAf perhaps be another proof that they were not published by authority, and, indeed, very little doubt can be entertained of the fact that Pavier's copies of the older plays were piratically published, and Shakespeare's name was for the first time appended to them in 1619, and not in 16C0, probably because the poet was not alive to protect his interests, and in the latter case because he did not acknowledge them for his own. I will now place before the reader certain evidences before uauoticed, which lead me to think that neither Malone, nor Knight, nor Collier, are exactly right in the results to which they have arrived concerning the authorship of the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. In a literary point of view, the first edition of the " Firrt Part of the Contention " is far more valuable than the first edition of the " Ti-ue Tragedy ;" and considering that both are in the same library, it seems rather strange that Mr. Knight should havA collated the Second Part, and left the more valuable copy. Perhaps, however, this remark is not necessary ; nor should I have alluded to the circumstance, had not Mr. Knight written so extensively concerning these plays, that a reasonable doubt might be raised as to whei-e new evidences, properly so called, could exist. To proceed. In the two first editions of " The First Part of the Contention," 1694 and 1600, act i., scene 2, we read : — This night when I was laid in bed, I dreampt that This, my staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in two, and on the ends were plac'd The heads of the Cardinal of Winchester, And WUliam de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. This speech, in the edition of 1619, the only one used by Mr. Knight, stands thus.: — This night, when I was laid in bed, I dreamt That this my staff, mine office-badge in court. Was broke in twain ; by whom, I cannot guess : But, as I think, hy tlie carditial. What it bodes God knotvs ; and on the ends were plac'd The heads of Edmund duke of Somerset, And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. Now let the reader carefully compare these different texts with the passage as corrected in the amended play : — Methought this staff, mine office-badge in conrt. Was broke in twain ; by whom 1 have forgot, But as I think, it was by the cardinal ; And on the pieces of the broken wand, Were plac'd the heads of Edmund duke of Somerset, And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream : what it doth bode, God knows. The words in italics in .the second quotation are those which are common to the editions of 1619 »nd 1623, but are not found in the earlier impressions of 1594 and 1600. We have thus an intermediate composition between the edition of 1594 and the amended plav. It 084 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. will be at once seem, that' these differences cannot be the result of emendation, in the way that we account for the differences of the second folio. I will produce another and a stronger instance. In act i., sc. 2, the edition of 1594 has these two lines, Bat ere it be long, I '11 go before them all, Despite of all that seek to cross me thus. Instead of these two lines, we have a different speech, an elaboration of the other two :— I '11 come after you, for I cannot go before, As long as Gloster hears this base and humble mind : W«*^ /a «w«, and Protector, as he is, I 'd reach to the crown, or make some hop TieacUet And being but a woman, 1 HI not (be) behind For playing of my part, in spite of all That seek to cross me thus. Again, compare these versions with the amended play : — Follow I must: I cannot go before While Gloster bears this base and humble mind Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, , I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks. And smooth my way upon their headless necks : And, being a woman, I -will not be slack To play my part in fortune's pageant. Here perhaps is a still stronger evidence of an intermediate composition, and others of like impor- tance may be seen from the notes. But more than this, the genealogy in act ii., sc. 2, in the edition of 1594, is entirely different from that given in the edition of 1619, and this latter veiy nearly corresponds with the amended play. It seems from these instances, that it will be a difficult matter to ascertain what really belongs to the first original play. I am inclined to think that there is a good deal of what may be termed the amended play in the two parts of the " Contention," and, although the evidence to my mind is so strong that Shakespeare was not the author of the whole of these plays, yet it seems little less than absurd to form an arithmetical computation of what was written by Shake- speare, and what was the work of the author of the original dramas. There are so many passages m the two parts of the Contention that seem almost beyond the power of any of Shakespeare's predecessors or contemporaries, perhaps even not excepting Marlowe, that as one method of explaining away the difficulties which attend a belief in Malone's theory, my conjecture that when these plays were printed in 1594 and 1595, they included the first additions which Shakespeare made to the originals, does not seem impossible, borne out as it is by an examination of the early editions. If I am so far correct, we have yet to discover the originals of the two parts of the " Contention," as well as that of 1 Henry VI. The well known passage in Greene's " Groat's-worth of Wit" proves that Shakespeare was the author of the line — 1 tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide, before September 3rd, 1592, and the angry allusion to the " upstart crow, beautified with our feathers," may be best explained by supposing that Shakespeare had then superseded the older play, in which perhaps Greene may have had some very small share. The attempt to generalize this passage fails, for Greene is speaking of Shakespeare as a writer, not as an actor, a point which Mr. Knight does not sufficiently consider. But that Greene " parodies a line of his own," as the other critics tell us, is assuming a power in Greene of penning the speech in which that line occurs ; and it is only neoas- sary to compare that speech with others in Greene's acknowledged plays, to be convinced that he waa uot equal to anything of the kind. 686 GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE Wlien Greene calls our great dramatist "in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country," it is scarcely possible that he could allude to Shakespeare's power of dramatic arrangement ; yet the words imply something of the kind, and we may wish to believe they really do. The notice just quoted is the earliest introduction of Shakespeare in the printed literature of this country, and so valuable an authority is it, that it is unfortunate any dispute or doubt should arise relative to its meaning. That the address in which it is inserted excited much attention at the time, is told by more than one authority ; and it probably proved a source of considerable vexation to Shakespeare himself, for shortly after its publication we find Chettle, who edited Greene's tract, apologizing for the insertion of the oflensive passage. ISTjish also calls it " a scald, trivial, lying pamphlet," but there is no reason for supposing that the last epithet was applied to the part now under consideration. Chettle is enthusiastic. We may believe that he became acquainted with Shakespeare after the publication of Greene's work, and before the appearance of " Kind-Hart's Dreame." He tells us that Shakespeare was " excellent in the quality he professes," that is, as an actor ; and had, moreover, a " facetious grace in writing that approves his art." This was in November or December, 1592. Shakespeare probably had written part of the " True Tragedy," before that time. There is another passage in " Kind-Hart's Dreame," which seems rather at variance with the one just quoted. Chettle, speaking of Greene, says, " of whom, however some suppose themselves in- jai-ed, I have learned to speak, considering he is dead, nil nisi necessarium. He was of singular plea- suie, the very supporter^ and, to no mar^s disgrace he this intended, the only comedian of a vulgar writer in this country." Chettle here seems to recollect the offence that the " address" had given ; he ex- claims to " no man's disgrace be this intended," he was not wronging Shakespeare in calling Greene " the only comedian of a vulgar writer in this country." Chettle professes to say nothing more of Greene than is requisite ; this testimony to his merits is given, notwithstanding his alleged friendliness to Shakespeare. He probably alludes to Shakespeare, when he says, "however some suppose themselves injured." Mr. Collier thinks Chettle implies that Shakespeare had acquired no reputation as an original dramatic poet in 1592 : and it certainly goes far to prove that his comic pieces had not then appeared, or, if they had, had obtained little applause. Our business is now with the histories ; and the "First Part of the Contention," and the "True Tragedy," may have been ri/acimenti by Shake- speare as early as 1592, When Greene parodied the lines in " The True Tragedy," and alluded to the crow " beautified with our feathers," it is probable he meant to insinuate that he himself had some share in the composi- tion of the play, which, in one state of its reconstruction or amendment by Shakespeare, fell under his satire. This probability is considerably strengthened by the following passage in "Greene's FuneraUs" by R.'B., gent., 4to., Lond. 1594, a rare tract of twelve leaves, preserved in the Bodleian Hbrary: Greene is the pleasing obiect of an eie ; Greene pleasde the eies of all that lookt vppon him ; Greene is the ground of euerie Painters die ; Greene gaue the ground to all that wrote vpon him: Nay more, the men tliat so eclipst his fame, Purloynde his Plumes, can they deny the same ? This is " Sonnet IX," in this rare little volume, which contains the term " sugred sonnets," afterward.^ appropriated by Meres to Shakespeare. R, B., whoever he was, may write somewhat in partisanship, but how Nash's indignant rejection of the authorship of the other tract can be held a sufficient reply to this plain statement, seems mysterious. Yet so Mr. Knight would tell us, and adds that no " great author appeared in the world who was not reputed in the outset of his career to be a plagiarist." Was Harriot held as plagiarist, when he promulgated his original theories? Was not his adoption of Vieta's notions discovered afterwards? The cases are nearly parallel, though there was no Vieta alive to claim the groundwork. We may not care to know who laid the foundation, but surely Greene's vrords are not to be altogether divested of any intelligible meaning. The " True Tragedy," as originally composed, was, as wo learn from the title page, i)luyed by the Kari of Pembrooke's servants, for whom Greene was in the habit of writing. None of Shakespeare's AS6 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. undisputed plays were played by this company. " Titus Andronicus," an earlier drama, also has this external evidence against its authenticity. Mr. Collier, indeed, tells us that before 1592, "a popular play written for one company, and perhaps acted by that company as it was written, might be surreptitiously obtained by another, having been at best taken down from the mouths of the original performers ; from the second company it might be procured by a third, and, after a succession of changes, corniptions, and omissions, it might find its way at last to the press." This, as Mr. Knight thinks, entirely overthrows Malone's argument on the point ; but the " True Tragedy" was not printed till 1595, and, according to Mr. Collier, this system probably concluded two years previously. Besides, the title-page would probably exhibit the name of the oiiginal company. If Malone is not right, it is very singular that the suspicious accounts should only appear on the titles of two suspicious dramas. Passing over Malone's conclusions from inaccuracies and anachronisms, which can hardly be considered safe guides, when we reflect how numerous they are throughout Shakespeare's plays, there is yet one other circumstance worthy of notice, that indirectly associates the name of Greene with the older dramas. In " The First Part of the Contention," mention is made of " Abradas, the great Macedonian pirateP Who Abradas was, does not any where appear, and the only other mention of him that has been discovered is in "Penelope's Web," 4to., Lond., 1588, a tract written by Greene. " I remember, Ismena, that Epicurus measured every man's dyet by his own principles, and Abradas, the great Mace- donian pirate, thought every one had a letter of mart that bare sayles in the ocean." These coin- cidences are perhaps more curious than important, but still appear worth notice. It may likewise be mentioned, as a confirmatory circumstance, that Nash, in his " Apologie," 1593, mentions Greene •' being chiefe agent for the companie, for hee writ more than foure other, how well I will not say." If, therefore, Greene was so intimately connected with the earl of Pembrook's servants, and Shake- speare not at all, the external evidence, as far as this goes, is strongly in favour of Greene's having had some share in the composition of the " True Tragedy," and, as a matter of course, " The First Part of the Contention." I have followed Mr. Hunter in saying that the allusion to Shakespeare in the " Groatsworth of Wit," entered at Stationers' Hall September 20, 1592, is the earliest production of our great dramatic poet in the printed literature of this country. If, however, the opinion of Chalmers may be relied on, Gabriel Harvey, in his " Four Letters especially touching Robert Greene, and other parties by him abused," 1592, alludes to Shakespeare in the third letter, dated September 9th, 1592, wherein he says :— " I speak generally to every spiinging wit, but more especially to a few : and, at this instant, singularly, to one, whom I salute with a hundred blessings." These notices of Shakespeare are, how- ever, digressions in this place, even if they prove that Shakespeare was not popularly known as a dramatic writer before 1592. Chettle's evidence in the same year is almost conclusive with respect to the histrionic powers of Shakespeare ; and it would be a curious addition to our poet's histoiy to ascer- tain whether he performed in the two latter parts of Henry VI, after they had been altered and amended. There is a well-known epigram by Davies, in his " Scourge of Folly," 1611, p. 76, that has some theatrical anecdote connected with it, now perhaps for ever lost, but which implies that Rowe was not exactly right when he stated that " the top of his performance was the ghost of Hamlet:'' Another evidence may be adduced from Davies' " Humours Heav'n on Earth," 8vo., Lond.. 1609, p. 208, which has not been yet quoted : — Some followed her (Fortune) by acting all men's parts, These on a stage she rais'd, in scorn to fall. And made them mirrors by their acting arts, Wherein men saw their faults, though ne'er so small : Yet some she guerdon'd not to their deserts ; But othersome were but ill-action all, Who, while they acted ill, ill stay'd behind. By custom of their manners, in their minds. This alludes to Shakespeare and Burbage, as appears irom the marginal note ; but the inference to be drawn from it is in favour of Shakspeare's capabilities as an actor. Davies is often rather unintel- ligible, and the allusion — 6>'» GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE Some say, good Will, which I, in sport, do sing, Hadst thou not play'd some kingly parts in sport, Thou hadst been a companion for a king, And been a king among the meaner sort — remains to be unravelled. It clearly alludes to some circumstance which ^ook place after the accession of James L * This digression is not without its use, because it shows that as we have good grounds for believing Chettle's testimony to Shakespeare's histrionic merits, we can the more readily give credence to his assertion that our dramatist possessed a " facetious grace in writing, that approves his art." If the other passage just quoted, which alludes to Greene, proves that Shakespeare was not known as a comic writer as early as 1591, it by no means sufficiently outweighs Chettle's first testimony to make us doubt that Shakespeare had then largely contributed to the two parts of the " Contention." Mr. Knight tells us repeatedly, that if Malone's theory be adopted, Shakespeare was the most unblushing plagiarist that ever put pen to paper. Why so ? Did Shakespeare adopt the labours of others as his own ? If he had done so, why was his name effaced from the title-page of " Sir John Oldcastle ?" and why was it not inserted on the early editions of the present plays ? He would have been essentially a dishonest plagiarist, says Mr. Knight. But it was the common custom of the time for dramatists to be engaged to remodel and amplify the productions of others. A reference to Henslowe's Diary will at once establish this fact. In 1601, Decker was paid thirty shillings " for altering of Fayton," and, in the following year, we find Ben Jonson paid £10 on account, " in earnest of a boocke called Richard Crookeback, and for new adycions for Jeronimo." According to Mr. Knight's theory, Decker, Jonson, and every unfortunate play\vright who complied with the custom of the time, were " unblushing plagiarists." The great probability is, that the company for which Shakespeare wrote had become proprietors of the older plays, and that he made alterations, and added to them when necessar}-. There was no plagiarism in the case ; and perhaps some day it will be discovered that little of the original dramas now remains in the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. From Henslowe's Diary it appears that a play called Henry VI. was acted thirteen times in the spring of ] 592, by Lord Strange's players, who, be it remembered, never performed any of Shake- speare's plays. This is conjectured, with great probability, to be the First Part of Henry VI. in some «tate or other of its composition, and the play whose power " embalmed" the bones of " brave Talbot" with the teare of ten thousand spectators. The death scene of Talbot is, perhaps, the most powerfully constructed part of the play ; our national sympathies have been awakened in his favour, and we pity hiB woeful end ; but Nash gives like praise to the contemptible '' Famous Victories." Mr. Knight places great reliance on the unity of action in the First Part of the " Contention" and the First Part of Henry VI., to prove that they were both written by one and the same person ; but surely these two plays have neither unity of characterisation, nor unity of style ; and the want of these outweighs the unity of action. That there is considerable unity of action, I admit. In some cases, nearly the same expressions occur. Thus in 1 Henry VI., act iv., so. 1, King Henry says : — Cousin of York, we institute your ^race To be our regent in these parts of France. And in the First Part of the " Contention," act i., sc. 1, he says : — Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace From being regent in these parts of France. But I suspect these coincidences, and the evidences of the unity of action, as well as those scenes which a cursory reader might suppose to have been written for the purpose of continuation, may be attributed to the writer having adopted his incidents out of the old chronicles, where such matters are placed in not very strict chronological arrangement. Thus, in Richard III, the incident of the king sending the Bishop of Ely for strawberries is isolated, adopted in order with the other scenes from the chruniclei'S, probably Holinshed, and useless for the purposes of continuation. With a discussion mi the supposed ens HISTORICAL PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. iinitv of style I will not occupy these pages. Opinion in this matter is sufficient, for the plays are accessible. Mr. Hallam thinks the First Part of Henry VI. might have been written by Greene, and the very opening of the play is in the bombastic style of the older dramatists. Again, with respect to the characterization, is the Margaret of/. Henry VI. the Margaret of the First Part of the " Contention ?" Perhaps her character is not sufficiently developed in the first of these to enable us to judge ; but, in regard to the characters that are common to both, we may safely decide that not one characteristic of importance is to be found in /. Henry VI. not immediately deiived from the chroniclers. Are we to suppose that Suffolk's instantaneous love was corresponded to by Margaret, or was she only haughty and not passionate when she quietly answers Sufiblk in the speech in which she is introduced ? I do not mean to assert that there is any inconsistency in her being represented merely haughty in one play, and passionate in the other, for different circumstances would render this veiy possible ; but it is not easy to infer the strict unity of characterization that is attempted to be established. K the First Part of Henry VI. were originally written by Shakespeare, and with all these scenes for the purposes of continuation, as Mr. Knight would have us believe, how does that writer account for the appearance of the Second Part of Henry VI. under the title of the First Part of the " Con- tention ?" This is a point to which no attention has been given. Two editions of the First Part of the "Contention" were published in 1600 under the old title, but we find that in 1602, their later appellations as parts of Henry VI. had been given them. It seems reasonable to infer that, when Shakespeare remodelled the old plays, and formed the two pails of the " Contention," he had had nothing to do with the old play of " Henry VI." mentioned by Henslowe, and had intended the play now called the Second Part of Henry VI. to be the first of his own series. Afterwards, he might have been employed to make "new adycyons" to the old play of " Henry VI.," and then the three plays may have been amalgamated into a series, and the old play rendered uniform by scenes written for continuations previously made. Take the First Part of Henry VI. away, and the concluding chorus to Henry V. remains equally intelligible. The " True Tragedy " may also have been called " Edward IV.," and so more naturally the series would have continued with Richxtrd III. In vain bavo I looked for any identity of manner in the scene between Suffolk and Margaret in the First Part of Henry VI. and the similar scene in the First Part of the " Contention." But so much stress has b^en laid on this point, that I beg the reader will here carefully compare them together. Firtt Part of the Contention, Act Hi. Sc. 2. Queen. Sweet Suffolk, hie thee hence to France, For if the king do come, thou sure must die. Svf. And if I go I cannot live : but here to die, What were it else. But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? Hero could I breathe my soul into the air. As mild and gentle as the new-born babe. That dies with mother's dug between his lips. Where from thy sight I should be raging mad, And call for thee to close mine eyes, Or with thy lips to stop my dying soul, That I miglit breathe it so into thy body, And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. By thee to die, were torment more than death. Oh, let me stay, befal what may befal. Queen. Oh might'st thou stay with safety of thy life, Then should'st thou stay ; but heavens deny it, And therefore go, but hope ere long to be repeal'd. Svf. I go. Queen. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him. Suf. A jewel lock'd into the wofull'st cask, That ever yet contain'd a thing of worth. Thus, like a splitted bark, so sundo- we; This way fall I to deatli. \Eidt Suffolk. Queen. This way for roe. [Beit QxTEBN First Part of Henry VI., Act v. Sc. 8. Suf. Be what tliou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [G lie thou thero, and tumble in thy bhicd. What's hero, the sign of llio Cs'-tlef 'I'.'ien the prophecy is come to pass, For Somerset was forewarn'd of casvlos., Tji? which he always did observe, A-'id now behold, under a paltiy ale-houso v>f\. The Castle in St. Alban's, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous by his deatii. "" Is there in this one ^'ngle characteristic of the language which ShaJcesjyeare gives i-j Hichard ? Is there identity of manner ? Is not the style comparatively puerile ? Let this and similar passages be given to the author or authors of the original play, but let us retain for Shakespeare the parts that we may fairly judge from comparison to have been beyond the power of those of his contemporaries, whose works have descended to our times. The following play, in point of time, is Richard III.^ which was considerably more popular than either the two parts of the " Contention," or any of the three parts of Henry VI. There had been an older play on the same subject, alluded to by Harrington in 1591 as having been acted at St. John's College, Cambridge, but this was in Latin. An English play, entitled, "The True Tragedie of Richard the Third, wherein is showne the death of Edward the Fourth, with the smothering of the two ywng Princes in the Tower, with a lamentable ende of Shore's wife, an example for all wicked women, and lastly, the conjunction and joyning of the two noble houses, Lancaster and Yorke," appeared in 1594, but there are no strong grounds for believing it to have been used or even read by Shakespeare. The series of the historical plays concludes with Henry VIII.^ which was first published in the folio of 1623. This drama was produced after the accession of the first James, there being an evident allusion to him in the well known lines, commencing, " Nor shall this peace sleep with her." It was entered on the registers of the Stationers' Company, early in 1605. to N. Butter, "yf he get good allowance for the Enterlude of K. Henry 8th. before he begyn to print it, and then procure the warden's hands to yt for the entrance of yt, he is to have the same for his copy ;" but no edition in quarto, or 81 641 GENERAL INTRODUCTION, ETC. of that date, is known to exist. It seems to have been popular, and, according to Stowe, tliough his autnority on this point has been questioned, the Globe Theatre was ignited at the fire in 1613 during tne performance of this play. Sir H. Wotton, however, asserts that the play acted on that lamentable occurrence, was called, "All is True;" and the most evident solution of the discrepancy, thou2:ii I cannot biing myself to consider it liin true one, is that Henry VIII. had a double title, ond was socio times known under the denominatiou cited by Wottoa. 649 TpHE plays of Shakespeare which he has founded upon English history, have seized so strongly on the national mind, that they are received not as dramas only but as history; but our poet did not invariably follow historic truth so closely as he might have done, nor are events always re- lated with regard to their order in point of time. He seized the most dramatic incidents of a reign, and crowded them rapidly one upon another, drawing them within a narrow circle, and seeking for imity of dramatic interest, not unfrequently passed over some of the important events, in reference to the political and social state of the people. In King John no allusion is made to what every Eng- lishman must regard as the great event of that reign, the wringing from the reluctant tyrant, at Runnymede, the great basis of our national liberties — the Magna Charta, In Henry the Eighth^ also, the poet has, with great art, forborne to touch upon any of the numerous dark spots of that monarch's character, while the great event of that reign — the Reformation — remains, partially per haps from the nature of the subject, untouched. John ascended the throne in 1199, in his thirty -second year; Shakespeare's play commences shortly after, and embraces the whole of his reign, a period of seventeen years. The first two acts of the play carry us only through the first year of John's reign, up to 1200, when he gave his niece Blanch, of Castile, in marriage to Lewis, the eldest son of Philip of France. John's divorce of his first wife, and his marriage with Isabella, the daughter of the Count of Angouleme, together with the consequent revolts of many of his barons, are passed over in silence. The death of Arthur, the young duke of Brittany, which occurred in 1203, is not related in the manner in which it is now supposed it took place, although, as the event is shrouded in mystery, it is possible Shakespeare's ac- count may be the correct one. Arthur was not a child, but rising to manhood, and had sought safety from his uncle by a coalition with Philip, the powerful king of France, to whose daughter he was affianced. Animated by a love of military fame, the young prince had broken into Poictou, at the head of a small army, and hearing that his grandmother, Queen Eleanor, who had always been his enemy, was residing at Mirabeau, he determined to take that fortress, and obtain possession of her person; in attempting this, he was himself captured, fell into the hands of his uncle John, and was committed to the custody of Hubert de Bourg. Hubert saved the prince from an assassin sent to destroy him, and spread a report of his death ; but it excited such indignation in the revolted barons, that he thought it prudent to reveal the truth. This sealed the doom of the young prince; not long after he disappeared, and was never heard of again. Most accounts, however, represent the tyrant as murdering his nephew with his own hands. This deed of guilt was sup2)osed to have taken place at Rouen ; Shakespeare repi-esents Arthur to have met his death by attempting to escape from the castle of Northampton. Of the prisoners taken by John with the prince, twenty-two noblemen are baid to have been starved to death in Corfe Castle. A lapse of ten years occurs between the fourth and fifth acts of Shakespeare's tragedy, during which the famous dispute between John and the astute and subtle pontiff", Innocent III., took place respecting the right of appointing the archbishop of Canterbury. After the pope had fulminated the ^utences of excommunication and deposition against John, and had roused France to execute the fi4,3 1} KING JOHN. latter decree, the feeble and vacillating monarch humbly submitted himself, and took an oath of fealty to Rome. He had previously, with flashing eyes and lips livid with anger, thundered out to his trembling prelates these haughty words : — "By God's teeth, if you, or any of your body, dare to lay ray states under interdict, I will send you and all your clergy to Rome, and confiscate your property. As for the Roman shavelings, if I find any in my dominions, I will tear out their eyes and cut off their noses, and so send them to the pope, that the nations may witness their infamy." Had not John's weakness and timidity been equal to his ferocity, he might have been the scourge of Rome and the terror of Europe. On the memorable 15th of June, 1215, John signed the Great Charter at Runnymede, having not long before said : — *' And why do they not demand my crown, also ? By God's teeth, I will not grant them liberties which will make me a slave !" After signing this memorable deed, John was plunged in despair, and is said to have acted with the furious imbecility of a madman ; he blasphemed, raved, gnashed his teeth, and gnawed sticks and straws, in the intensity of his impotent passion. He soon repented of the liberty which he had granted to his barons and his people, and made war upon them to regain it. He surrounded himself with a host of savage foreign mercenaries, the chiefs of whom were called "Manleon, the bloody;" "Falco, without bowels;" "Walter Buch, the murderer;" " Sottim, the merciless ;" and " Godeschall, the iron-hearted." These ruffians gave every village they passed to the flames, and put John's English subjects to horrible tortures, to compel them to confess where they had concealed their wealth. But the hand of heaven arrested the progress of this incarnate fiend ; John died in the October of the year following that in which he had placed his hand to the charter. He breathed his last at the castle of Newark, on the Trent, and not at Swinsted (or Swineshead) Abbey. It is possible that he might have been poisoned, but that story is not told by any writer of the time, and is a tradition on which we cannot place much reliance. The most probable account is, that he ate gluttonously of some peaches, and immediately after drank a quantity of new cider. This, in his distempered state, was cause enough to produce the fever which destroyed him. The last acts of John's life, as repre- sented by the iron pen of history, excite alternately the strongest feelings of indignation and disgust ; but the death of John, as depicted by Shakespeare, wins our pity foi* the expiring tyrant. Even during his life, the poet represents him as not devoid of a certain princely courage and dignity. A play, entitled The 2'roublesome Raigne of John King of England, dtc, in two parts, was printed in 1591, without the name of its author. Mr. Malone supposes it to have been written by Robert Greene, or George Peele ; and that it certainly preceded Shakespeare's play, which is supposed to have been written in 1596, 044 PEESONS KEPRESENTED King John. Appuirs, Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1. 6c. 2 ; sc. 3. Act IV. sc. 2. Act V. sc. 1 ; bc. 8 ; sc. 7. Prince Henrt, his Son ; afterwards King Henry the Third. Appears, Act V. bc. 7. Ajithur, Duke of Bretagne ; Son of Geffrey, late Duke of Bretagne, and Elder Brother of King John. Appears, Act II. sc 1. Act III. sc 1 ; sc 2 ; so. 3. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc 3. William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. Appears, Act I. bc 1. Act II. sc. 1. Act IV. sc 2; sc. 3. Act V. sc. 2 ; sc. 4 ; sc. 7. Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, Chief Jus- ticiary of England. Appears, Act I. so. 1. William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc. 2; sc. 8. Act V. 8c. 2 ; sc. 4 ; sc. 7. Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. Appears, Act IV. sc. 3. Act V. sc. 2 ; sc. 4 ; sc. 7. Hubert De Burgh, Chamberlain to the King. Appears, Act III. sc. 2 ; sc. 8. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc 2 ; sc. 3. Act V. sc. 3; so. 6. Robert Faulconbridge, Son of Sir Robert Faul- conbridge. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Philip Faulconbridge, his Half -hr other, Bastard Son to King Richard the First. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 . Act II. sc 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 2; 80. S. Act IV. so. 2; sc. 8. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2;- sc. 6 ; sc. 7. James Gukney, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. Appears, Act I. bo. 1. Peter of Pomfret, a Prophet. Appears, Act IV. sc. 2. Philip, King of France. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1 ; so. 4. Lewis, tlie Dauphin. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. ac 1 ; sc. 4. Act V BC. 2 ; sc. 5. Akch-duke of Austria. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1. Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's Legate. Appears, Act III. sc 1 ; sc. 4. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Melun, a French Lord. Appears, Act V. sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Chatillon, Ambassador from France to King John Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc 1. Elinor, the Widow of King Henry the Second, and Mother of King John. Appears, Act I. sc 1. Act II. sc 1 ; so. 2. Act III. bc 1 ; sc. 3. Constance, Mother to Arthur. Appeal's, Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc 1 ; sc. 4. Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and Niece to King John. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1. Lady Faulconbridge, Mother to the Bastard and Robert Faulconbridge. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Anglers, Sheriff, Her aids, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. 645 ling ^oljn ACT I. SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace. Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury, and Others, with Chatil- lon. K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us ? Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the Idng of France, In my behaviour, to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty of England here. JEli. A strange beginning : — borrow'd majesty ! K.John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffiey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island, and the territories ; To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine ; Desiiing thee to lay aside the sword, Which sways usurpingly these several titles ; And put the same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war. To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment : so answer France. Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth. The furthest limi of my embassy. 646 K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace ; Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, And sullen presage of your own decay. — An honourable conduct let him have : — Pembroke, look to 't : Farewell, Chatillon. \_Exeunt Chat, and Pem, Eli. What now, my son ? have I not ever said. How that ambitious Constance would not cease, Till she had kindled France, and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son ? This might have been prevented, and made whole, With very easy arguments of love ; Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us. Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your right ; Or else it must go wrong with you, and me ; So much my conscience whispers in your ear ; WTiich none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whispers Essex. Essex. My liege, here is the strangest contro- versy, Come from the country to be judg'd by you. That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men? K. John. Let them approach. — [Exit SheriflF, Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay KING JOHN. SCENE I. Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridqe, and Philip, his bastard Brother. This expedition's charge. — What men are you ? Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son, As 1 suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. K. John. What art thou ? Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir ? You came not of one mother then, it seems. Bast. Most certain of one mothei", mighty king. That is well known ; and, as I think, one father ; But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother ; Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy mother. And wound her honour with this diffidence. Bast. I, madam ? no, I have no reason for it ; That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year : Heaven guard my mother's honom-, and my land ! K. John. A good blunt fellow : — Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy ; But whe'r I be as true begot, or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head ; But, that I am as well begot, ray liege, (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me !) Compare our faces, and be judge yourself, [f old sir Robert did beget us both. And were our father, and this son like him ; — 0, old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here ! EU. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face. The accent of his tongue afiecteth him : Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man ? K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts. And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,. What doth move you to claim your brother's land ? Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father ; With that half-face would he have all my land : A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year ! Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, Your brother did employ my father much ; Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there, with the emperor. To treat of high affairs touching that time : The advantage of his absence took the king. And in the mean time sojoum'd at my father's ; Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak : But truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, (As I have heard my father speak himself,) When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me ; and took it, on his death. That this, ray mother's son, was none of his ; And, if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen Aveeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege^ let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him ; And, if she did play false, the fault was hers ; Which fault Heson the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son. Had of your father claira'd this son for his ? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; In sooth, he might : then, if he Avere my brother's. My brother might not claim him ; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him : This concludes, — My mother's son did get your father's heir ; Your father's heir must have your father's land. Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force. To dispossess that child which is not his? Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir. Than was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon bridge. And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ? Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert his, like him ; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stufFd ; my face so thin. That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 647 ACT 1 KING JOHN. 'Would I might never stir from off this place, r M give it every foot to have this face ; I would not be sir Nob in any case.^ Eli. I like thee well : Wilt thou forsake thy for- tune, n.equeath thy land to him, and follow me ? [ am a soldier, and now bound to France. Bast. Brother, take you my laud, I '11 take my chance : Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year ; Yet sell your face for five-pence, and 't is dear. — Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. Bast. Our countiy manners give our betters way. K. John. What is thy name ? Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ; Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st : Kneel thou down Philip, but ai-ise more great ; Arise sir Richard, and Plantageuet. Bust. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your hand ; My father gave me honour, yours gave land : — Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. When I was got, sir Robei't was away. Eli. The very spirit of Plantageuet ! — I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : What though ? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night ; And have is have, however men do catch ; Near or far off, well won is still well shot ; And I am I, howe'er I was begot. K. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thy desii'e, A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — Come, madam, and come, Richard ; we must speed For France, for France ; for it is more than need. Bast. Brother, adieu : Good foitune come to thee ! For thou wast got i' the way of hone^jj. \^Exeunt all but the Bastard. A foot of honour better than I was ; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : " Good den, sir Richard, — God-a-meicy, fellow ;" — And if his name be George, I '11 call him Peter: For new-made honour doth foi-got men's names ; 'T is too respective, and too sociable. For your conversion. Now your traveller, — 648 He and his tooth-pick at my woi-ship's mess ; And when my knightly stomach is sufiic'd, W^hy then I suck my teeth, and catechise My picked man of countries :' "My dear sir," (Thus, leaning on mine elbov/, I begin,) " I shall beseech you" — That is question now ; And then comes answer like an ABC-book :* — " O sir," says answer, " at your best command ; At your employment ; at your service, sir :" " No, sir," says question, " I, sweet sir, at yours :'' And so, ere answer knows what question would, (Saving in dialogue of compliment ; And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society. And fits the mounting spirit, like myself : For he is but a bastard to the time, That doth not smack of observation ; (And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement ; But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — But who comes in such haste, in riding robes ? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband. That will take pains to blow a hom before her ? Enter Lady Faulconbridge o.nd James Gukney. me ! it is my mother : — How now, good lady ? What brings you hei'e to court so hastily ? Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where is he That holds in chase mine honour up and down ? Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Robert's son ? Colbrand the giant," that same mighty man ? Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so ? Lady F. Sir Robert's sou ! Ay, thou unreverend boy. Sir Robert's son : Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert 1 He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. Bast. James Guraey, wilt thou give us leave a while ? Chjbr. Good leave, good Philip. Bast. Philip ? — sparrow ! — James, There 's toys abroad f anon I '11 tell thee more. YExit GtJR, Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ; Sir Robert might have eat his part in me KING JOHN. Upon Good -Friday, and ne'er broke his fast : Sir Robert could do well ; Marry, (to confess !) Could he get me ? Sir Eobert could not do it ; We know his handy-work : — Therefore, good mo- ther, To whom am I beholden for these limbs ? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LadyF. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain should'st defend mine honour ? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ? Bast. Knight, kuight, good mother, — Basilisco- like -J What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; I have disci aim'd sir Robert, and my land ; Legitimation, name, and all is gone : Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; Some proper man, I hope : Who was it, mother ? Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon- bridge ? Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. Lady F. King Richard Cceur-de-lion was thy father; By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd To make room for him in my husband's bed :— — Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! — Tliou art the issue of my dear offence. Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again. Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth. And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly ; Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, — Subjected tribute to commanding love, — Against whose fuiy and unmatched force The awless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.' He, that peifoi'ce robs lions of their hearts, May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well When I was got, I '11 send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to ray kin ; And they shall say, when Richard me begot. If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : Who says it was, he lies ; I say, 'twas not. \ Exeunt ACT II. SCENE L— France. Before the Walls of Anglers. ter., on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and Forces ; on the other, Philip, King of France, and Forces ; Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and Attendants. Lew. Before Anglers well met, brave Austria. — Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave : And, for amends to his posterity. At our importance hither is he come. To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : Embra«!e him, love him, give him welcome hither. Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death. The rather, that you give his offspring life. Shadowing their right under your wings of war : I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love : S-2 Welcome before the gates of Anglers, duke. Le^o. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee right 1 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss. As seal to this indenture of my love ; That to my home I will no more return, Till Anglers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore. Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, And coops from other lands her islanders. Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign pui-poses. Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arras. Const. 0, take his raother's thanks, a wido^^'s thanks. Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength. To make a raore requital to your love. Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their swords 649 ACT II. KING JOHN. SCENE 1. In such a just and charitable war. K. Phi. Well then, to work ; oui' cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. ■ Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages : — We 'II lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest uuadvis'd you stain your swords with blood : My lord Chatillon may from England bring That right in peace, which here we urge in war ; And then we shall repent each diop of blood, That hot rash haste so indiscreetly shed. Enter Chatillon. K. Phi. A wonder, lady ! — lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — What England says, say briefly, gentle lord, We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege. And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands. Hath put himself in arms ; the adverse winds. Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I : His marches are expedient to this town. His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain ; With them a bastard of the king deceas'd : And all the unsettled humors of the land, — Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries. With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — Have sold their fortunes at their native homes. Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here. In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, Thau now the English bottoms have waft o'er, Did never float upon the swelling tide, To do oflfence and scath in Christendom. The interruption of their churlish drums [Drums heat. Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand, To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare. K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedi- tion ! Auet, By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence ; 650 For courage mounteth with occasion : Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard Pembroke, and Forces. K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own! -; If not ; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven ! Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. K. Phi. Peace be to England ; if that war retui'n From France to England, there to live in peace ! England we love ; and, for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat : This toil of ours should be a work of thine ; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, Cut off" the sequence of posterity. Outfaced infant state, and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his ; This little abstract doth contain that large, Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born. And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, And this is Geffrey's : In the name of God, How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest ? K. John. From whom hast thou this great com- mission. Franco, To draw my answer from thy articles ? K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stire good thoughts In any breast of strong authority. To look into the blots and stains of right. That judge hath made me guardian to this boy : Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wi-ong ; And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. K. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping down. Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France ? Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son. Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king ; That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world '. Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true, As thine was to thy husband : and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, '^':H[r^r®;igr'f- })^tmn 4^ tSm^-^'AM^i $M^hp ^■M ifmm r 'UZV& dofUt" Km* John Act 2. Scl KING JOHN. SQPNE X. Than thou and John in manners ; being as like, As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think, His father never was so true begot ; It cannot be, an if tnou wert his mother.^ Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. Const. There 's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. Aust. Peace ! Bast. Hear the crier. Aust. What the devil art thou ? Bast. One that will play the devil sir, with you, A.n 'a may catch your hide and you alone. You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard ; I 'U smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; Sirrah, look to 't ; i' faith, T will, i' faith. Blanch. O, well did he become that Hon s robe, That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : — But, ass, I '11 take that burden from your back ; Or lay on that, skall make vour shoulders crack. Aust. What cracker is this same, that deats our ears With this abundance of superfluoiis breath ? K. Phi. Lewis, determine wnat we shad do straight. Lew. Women and fools, break off your con- ference. — King John, this is the very sum of all, — England, and L'eland, Anjou, Tourame, Mame, In right of Arthur do I ciaim of thee : Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy aims ? K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; And, out of my dear love, I '11 give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : Submit thee, boy. Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ; Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam wdl Give it a plum, a chei-ry, and a fig : There 's a good grandam. Arth. Good my mother, peace ! I would, that 1 were low laid in my grave ; I am not worth this coil that 's made for me. Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no. His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames. Draw those heaven-moving peals from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you. Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth ! Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp The dominations, royalties, and rights, Of this oppressed boj' : This is thy eldest son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee ; Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; The cannon of the law is laid on him. Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-couceiviag womb. Jl. John. Bedlam, have done. Const. I have but this to say, That he 's not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plagu'd for her, And with her plague, her sin : his injury Her injury, — the beadle to her sin ; All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her : A plague upon her ! Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A -will, that bars the title of thy son. Const. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked will ; A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! K. Phi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more tempe- rate : It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim" To these ill-tuned repetitions. — Some tnimpet summon hither to the walls, These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak, WTiose title they admit, Arthur's or John's, Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls, 1st Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls ? K Phi. 'Tis France, for England. IT. John. England, for itself: You men of Anglers, and my loving subjects, K. Phi. You loving men of Anglers, Arthur's ■ subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. IT. John. For our advantage ; — Therefore, here us first. 651 KING JOHN. SCENE 1. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement ; The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; And ready mounted are they, to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : All preparation for a bloody siege, And merciless proceeding by these French, •Jonfrout your city's eyes, your winking gates ; And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones That as a waist do girdle you about. By the compulsion of their ordnance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, Who painfully, with much expedient march. Have brought a countercheck before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, — Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle : And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire. To make a shaking fever in your walls. They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke. To make a faithless error in your ears : Which trust accordingly, kind citizens. And let us in. Your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forewearied in this action of swift speed, Craves harbourage within your city walls. K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet ; Son to the elder brother of this man. And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys ; For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you. Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, In the relief of this oppressed child. Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty, which you truly owe. To him that owes it ; namely, this young prince ; And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, have all ofi'ence seal'd up ; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ; And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords, and helmets all Unbruis'd, We will bear home that lusty blood again, Which here we came to spout against your town, Ami leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 652 But if you fondly pass our proflfer'd ofFei, 'Tis not theroundure" of your old-fac'd walls Can hide you from our messengers of war ; Though all these English, and their discipline, Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challeng'd it ? Or shall we give the signal to our rage. And stalk in blood to our possession ? \si Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects ; For him, and in his right, we hold this town. IT. John. Acknowledge then the king, and .ei me in. Ist Cit. That can we not : but he that proves the king. To him will wo jwove loyal ; till that time, Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. IT. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the king ? And, if not that, I bring you witnesses. Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, — JBast. Bastards, and else. IC. John. To verify our title with their lives. IT. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods a* those, Bast. Some bastards too. IT. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict tu» claim. 1st Cit. Till you compound whose right is wor- thiest. We for the worthiest, hold the right from both. K. John. Tlien God forgive the sin of all those souls. That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet. In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! K. Phi. Amen, amen : — Mount, chevaliers ! to arms ! Bast. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon, ana e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door. Teach us some fence ! — Siirah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, [To Aust.] with your lioness. I 'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide. And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace ; no more. Bast. O, tremble ; for you Lear the lion roar. K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we 'h set forth. In best appointment, all our regiments. Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field KING JOHN. K. Phi. It shall be so ; — [7'o Lew.] and at the other hill Command the rest to stand, — God, and our right ! [Exeunt. SCENE I[.—The Same. Alarums and Excursions ; then a Betreat. Enter a French Herald, with trumiiets^ to the gates. F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons he scatter'd on the bleeding ground : Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells ; King John, your king and England's, doth ap- proach Commander of this hot malicious day ! Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ; There stuck no plume in any English crest. That is removed by a staff of France ; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,'^ Died in the dying slaughter of their foes : Open your gates, and give the victore way. Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies ; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured :" Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows ; Strength match'd with strength, and power con- fronted power : Both art alike ; and both ahke we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even We hold our town for neither ; yet for both. Enter, at one side, King Joiix, uith his poiver ^ Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastaid ; at the other. King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. E. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away ? Say, shall the current of our light run on ? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment. Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores ; Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. E. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood. In this hot trial, more than we of France ; Rather, lost more : And by this hand I swear. That sways the earth this climate overlooks — Before we will lay down our just-borne arms. We '11 put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear. Or add a royal number to the dead ; Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss. With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 0, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel ; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men. In undetermin'd differences of kings. — Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? Cry, havoc, kings : back to the stained field, You equal potents, fieiy-kindled spii'its ! Then let confusion of onp nart confirm The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death ! E. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit ? E. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who 's your king? 1st Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. E. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. E. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, And bear possession of our person here ; Lord of our presence, Angiers, and o^ voii, 1st Cit. A greater power than we, denies al this: And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in oui strong-barr'd gates ; King'd of our fears ; until our fears, resolv'd, Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 653 ACT II. KING JOHN. SCENE n. Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Anglers'^ flout you, kings ; And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me ; Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,'* Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths ; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawi'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : I 'd play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenccd desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths. And part your mingled colours once again ; Turn face to face, and bloody point to point : Then, in a moment, fortune shfdl cull forth Out of one side her happy minion ; To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy ? K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I hke it well; — France, shall we knit our powers. And lay this Angiers even with the ground ; Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — Being wrong'd, as Ave are, by this peevish town, — Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery. As we will ours, against these saucy walls : And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why, then defy each other; and, pell-mell. Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. K. Phi. Let it be so : — Say, where will you assault ? K.John. We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. A%st. I from the north. K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bast. O prudentdiscipline! From north to south? Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth ; [Aside. I '11 stir them to it : — Come, away, away ! \st Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league ; Win you this city witlout stroke, or wound ; 654 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field : Persevere not, but hear me, mighty kings, IT. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are beni to hear. 1st Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the ladv Blanch, Is near to England : Look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : If lusty love should go in quest of beauty. Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch « If love ambitious sought a match of birth. Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth. Is the young Dauphin every way complete ; If not complete, say, he is not she ; And she again wants nothing, to name want. If want it be not, that she is not he : He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she ; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 0, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in : And two such shores to two such streams made one.. Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can. To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match. With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance ; but, without this match The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion ; no, not death herself In mortal fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. Bast. Here 's a stay. That shakes the rotten carcase of old death Out of his rags 1 Here 's a large mouth, indeed. That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, nxn- seas; Talks as familiarly of roaring lions. As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs ! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, am' bounce ; He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; Our eai-s are cudgel'd ; not a word of his, But buffets better thf n a fist of France : J KING JOHN. Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words, Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. JEli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match ; Give with our niece a dowry large enough : For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown. That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France ; Mark, how they whisper; urge them, while their souls Are capable of this ambition : Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. \st Git Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town ? K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city : What say you ? K. John. K that the Dauphin there, thy princely son. Can in this book of beauty read, I love. Her dowry shall weigh equal with the queen : For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea (Except this city now by us besieg'd,) Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich In titles, honours, and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's face. Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; Which, being but the shadow of your son. Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : r do protest, I never lov'd myself, Till now infixed I beheld myself. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. [ Whispers with Blanch. Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!— Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow ! — And quarter'd in her heart ! — he doth espy Himself love's traitor : This is pity now. That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be, In such a love, so vile a lout as he. Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine : If he see aught in you, that makes him like. That any thing he sees, which moves his likii g, I can with ease translate it to my will ; Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord. That all I see in you is worthy love. Than this, — that nothing do I see in you, (Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,) That I can find should merit any hate. K. John. What say these young ones ? What say you, my niece ? Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can you love this lady ? Leiv. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; For I do love her most unfeignedly. K. John. Then I do give Volquessen,'*' Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provmces. With her to thee ; and this addition more. Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal. Command thy son and daughtf* to join hands. K. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes, close your hands. Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am well assur'd, That I did so, when I was first assur'd. K. Phi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates. Let in that amity which you have made ; For at saint Mary's chapel, presently. The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? — I know, she is not ; for this match, made up. Her presence would have interrupted much : — Where is she and her son ? tell me, who knows. Lew. She is sad and passionate at your high- ness' tent. K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, thai we have made. Will give her sadness very little cure. — Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady ? In her right we came ; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way To our own vantage. K. John. We will heal up all. For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 655 ACT III. KING JOHN. SCENE 1. A.nd earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town We make him lord of — Call the lady Constance ; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity : — I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so, That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us. To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp, l^JSxeunt all but the Bast. — The Citizens retire from the walls. Bast. Mad word ! mad kings ! mad composition ! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part : And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on ; Whom zeal and charity brought to the field. As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ; That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all. Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ; — Who having no external thing to lose But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that; That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling coramo- dity,-" Commodity, the bias of the world ; The world, who of itself is poised well. Made to run even, upon even ground ; Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, This sway of motion, this commodity. Makes it take head from all indifferency. From all direction, purpose, course, intent : And this same bias, this commodity. This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aim. From a resolv'd and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — And why rail I on this commodity ? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : Not that I have not power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm : But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail. And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich ; And being rich, my virtue then shall be, To saj'^, — there is no vice, but beggary : Since kings break faith upon commodity. Gain, be my lord 1 for I will worship thee ! [ExiU ACT III, SCENE I.— The Same. The French King's Tent. Miter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace I False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends ! Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those pro- vinces ? It is not so ; thou hast jnisspoke, misheard ; Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 't is so : I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word Is but the vain breath of a common man : Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; I have a king's oath to the contrary. Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, For I am sick, and capable of fears ; Oppresa'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 656 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; A woman, naturally born to fears ; And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, ■ With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, But they will quake and tremble all this day. What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? What means that hand upon that breast of thine ! Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, That give you cause to prove my saying true. Const. 0, if thou teach me to believe this sor- row. Teach thou this sorrow jow to make me die ,' And let belief and hte encounter so, Wt^mmm&wtt^- «j m^^ Hece is my throne bid Kings come bow to it /f/(Vt; JOHN /ICTJ.SC-.I. ACT ±11. KING JOHN. SUENK I. As doth the fury of two desperate men, Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thou ? France friend with England ! what becomes of me ? Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight ; This news hath made thee a most ugly man. Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, But spoke the harm that is by others done ? Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, As it makes harmful all that speak of it. Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains. Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content ; For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, ! She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee ; She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. France is a bawd to fortune, and king John ; That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone, And leave those woes alone, which I alone, Am bound to under-bear. Sal. Pardon me, madam, I may not go without you to the kings. Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee : I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. To me, and to the state of my great grief. Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great. That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; Ileie is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (^She throws herself on the ground. I'Jnter Kin'g John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair c' .ughter ; and this blessed dny, 83 Ever in France shall be kept festival : To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : The yearly course, that brings this day about. Shall never see it but a holiday. Const. A wicked day, and not a holiday. \Rising, What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done; That it in golden letters should be set. Among the high tides in the calendar ? Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; This day of shame, oppression, perjury : Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child Pray, tiiat their burdens may not fall this day. Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck ; No bargains break, that are not this day made :" This day, all things begun come to ill end ; Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause To curse the fair proceedings of this day: Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd, and tried. Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood. But now in arms you strengthen it with yours : The grappling vigour and rough frown of war. Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league : — Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings ! A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! Hear me, 0, hear me ! Aust. Lady Constance, peace. Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. Lymoges ! Austria ! thou dost shame That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ; Thou little valiant, great in villany ! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side I Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety 1 thou art perjur'd too,. 651 ACT lit, KING JOHN. SCENE I. ^ i And sootli'sl Up greatness* What a foo. art thou, A ramping foul ; to brag, atid stamp, and sweal*, Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave, Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. Aust. 0, that a man should speak those words to me ! Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself. Enter Pandulph. K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of hea- ven ! — To thee, king John, my holy errand is. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, And from pope Innocent the legate here, Do, in his name, religiously demand, Why thou against the church, our holy mother. So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name, Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories. Can task the free breath of a sacred king ? Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous. To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of Eng- land, Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; liut as we under God are supreme head, So, under him, that great supremacy, Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, Without the assistance of a mortal hand : So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart, To him, and his usurp'd authority. K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, 668 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Dreading the curse that money may buy out; And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose Against the pope, and count his friends my foes, Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate : And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt From his allegiance to an heretic ; And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, That takes away by any secret course Thy hateful life. Const. O, lawful let it be. That I have room with Rome to curse a while ! Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen. To my keen curses ; for, without my wrong. There is no tongue hath power to curse him right, Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. Const. And for mine too ; when law can do no right. Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong : Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; And raise the power of France upon his head. Unless he do submit himself to Rome. Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand. Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France repent. And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recrean limbs. Aust. Well, ruflSan, I must pocket up thes« wrongs. Because Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. K. John. Philip, what sny'st thou to the cardi^ nal? Const. What should he say, but as the cardi nal? Lew. Bethink vou, father ; for the difference i I ACT III. KING JOHN. SCENE I, Is, purchase of a lieavy curse from Rome, Or the Hght loss of England for a friend : Forego the easier. Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome. Const. Lewis, stand fast ; the devil tempts thee here, In likeness of a new uptrimmed bride. Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her faith. But from her need. Const. O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principle, That faith would live again by death of need ; O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. K. John. The king is moved, and answers not to this. Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Aust. Do so, king Philip ; hang no more in doubt. Bast. Hang nothing but a calf 's-skin, most sweet lout. K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What can'st thou say, but will perplex . thee more. If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd ? K. Phi, Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me how you would bestow yourself. This royal hand and mine are newly knit And the conjunction of our inward souls Married in league, coupled and link'd together With all religious strength of sacred vows ; .The latest breath that gave the sound of words Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; And even before this truce, but new before, — No longer than we well could wash our hands, To clap this royal bargain up of peace, Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over- ' stain'd With slaughter's pencil ! where revenge did paint The fearful difference of incensed kings ; And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, 80 newly join'd in love, so strong in both. Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with heaven Make such unconstant children of ourselves, As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity ? holy sir. My reverend father, let it not be so : Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd To do your pleasure, and continue friends. Pand. All form is formless, order orderless. Save what is opposite to England's love. Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church ! Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, A mother's curse, on her revolting son. France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue. A cased lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith • And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath. Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven per- form'd ; That is, to be the champion of our church ! What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself, And may not be performed by thyself: For that, which thou hast sworn to dp amiss, Is not amiss when it is truly done;'° And being not done, where doing tends to ill. The truth is then most done not doing it ; The better act of purposes mistook Is, to mistake again ; though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct. And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire, Within the scorched veins of one new buru'cJ. It is religion, that doth make vows kept ; But thou hast sworn against religion ; By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st ; And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath : The truth thou art unsure To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ; Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dosl swear. Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first. Is in thyself rebellion to thyself : And better conquest never canst th ou make, 659 ! i ! i I H ACT III. KING JOHN. SCENE ii-in. Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against those giddy loose suggestions : Upon which better part our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know, The peril of our curses light on thee ; So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off. But, in despair, die under their black weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! Bast. Will 't not be ? Will not a calf 's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? Lew. Father, to arms, Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? Against the blood that thou hast married ? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men ? Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums — Clamours of hell, — be measures to our pomp ? husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name. Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro- nounce, Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle. Const. 0, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, 1 do pray to thee. Thou virtuous dauphin, alter not the doom Fore-thought by heaven. Blanch. Now shall I see thy love : What mo- tive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds. His honour : 0, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour ! Lew. 1 muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound "espects do pull you on. .Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need : — England, I '11 fall from thee. Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! ^li. O foul revolt of French inconstancy I K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton time. Is it as he will ? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. The sun 's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, adieu ! Which is the side that I must go withal ? 1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; And, in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 660 Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win ; Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lo3e ; Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; Assured loss, before the match be play'd. Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. IC. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance toge ther. — \Exit Bast France, I am burned up with inflaming wrath ; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms let 's hie ! \Exeunt, SCENE II. — The Same. Plains near Anglers. Alarums, Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's Head. Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows Avoudrous hot ; Some airy devil hovers in the sky, And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there • While Philip breathes. Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy : — Philip," make up : My mother is assailed in our tent, And ta'en, I fear. Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her ; Her highness is in safety, tear you not : But on, my liege ; for veiy little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt SCENE III.— ne Same. Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter Kino John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. K. John. So shall it be : your grace shall stay behind, [To En So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : [To Arth Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will ! I I I ACT III. KING JOHN. SCENE rv. i I As dear be to thee as thy father was. Arth. 0, this will make my mother die with griefl K. John. Cousin, [To the Bast.] away for Eng- land ; haste before : And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots ; angels imprisoned Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in his utmost force. Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray (If ever I remember to be holy,) For your fair safety : so I kiss your hand. Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bast. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. [She takes Arth. aside. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her creditor. And with advantage means to pay thy love ; And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow. Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say, — But let it go : The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world. Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. To give me audience : — If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night ; K this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy. Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; (Which, else, runs tickhng up and down the veins. Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes ;) Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone. Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of woids; Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts ; But ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well ; And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. Huh. So well, that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct to my act. By heaven, I 'd do 't. K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st ? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy : I '11 tell thee what, my friend. He is a very serpent in my way ; And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ? Thou art his keeper. Hub. And I will keep him so. That he shall not offend your majesty. K. John. Death. Huh. My lord. K. John. A grave. Huh. He shall not live. K. John. Enough. I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee ; Well, I '11 not say what I intend for thee : Remember. Madam, fare you well : I '11 send those powers o'er to your majesty. Eli. My blessing go with thee ! K. John. For England, cousin : Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. SCENE IN.— The Same. TAe French King's Tent. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and Attendants. K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convented sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. K. Phi. What can go Avell, when we have run so ill ? Are we not beaten ? Is not Anglers lost ? Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain ? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified; So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 661 M I ! AOT III. KING JOHN. SCENE IV. Dotli want example : Who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred action like to this ? K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame. Enter Constance. Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. In the vile prison of aflSicted breath : — I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Constance ! Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress. But that which ends all counsel, true redress. Death, death : — O amiable lovely death ! Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night. Thou hate and terror to prosperity. And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows ; And ring these fingers with thy household worms ; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust. And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st. And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 0, come to me ! K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry: — 0, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth 1 Then with a passion would I shake the world ; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's fe«ble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not son-ow. Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ; My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : I am not mad ; — I would to heaven I were. For then, 't is like I should forget myself: 0, if I could, what grief should I forget ! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself; If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 662 Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he. I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : O, what love 1 note In the fair multitude of those her bail's ! Where but by chance a silrer drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glow themselves in sociable grief; Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Stickiijg together in calamity. Const. To England, if you will.*' K. Phi. Bind up your haira Const. Yes, that I will : And wherefore will I doit? I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, " that these hands could so redeem my son, As they have given these hairs their liberty !" But now I envy at their liberty, And will again commit them to their bonds, Because my poor child is a prisoner. And, father cardinal, I have heard you say. That we shall see and know our friends in heaven If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now v/ill canker sorrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek. And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; And so he '11 die ; and, rising so again. When I shall meet him in the court of heaven I shall not know him : therefore never, never Must I behold ray pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of youi child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words. Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do. — I will not keep this form upon my head, \Tcaring off her head-dreat When there is such disorder in my wit. lord ! my boy, my Arthur, mv fair son ! ACT 111. KING JOHN, SCEKfi tr. My Kfe, my joy, my food, my all the world ! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I 'II follow her. \Exit. Lew. There 's nothing in this world can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields naught, but shame and bitterness. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest ; evils, that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil : What have you lost by losing of this day ? Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pand. If you have won it, certainly, you had. No, no ; when fortune means to men most good. She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange, to think how much king John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won : Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner ? Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit ; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each' little rub. Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's thi ne ; and, therefore, mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be, That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins. The misplac'd John should entertain an hour. One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest : A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand. Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd : And he, that stands upon a slippery place. Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; So be it, for it cannot be but so. Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife. May then make all the claim that Arthur did. Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old world ! John lays you plots f * the times conspire with you ; For he, that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and j*eeze up their zeal ; That none so small advantage shall step forth, To check his reign, but they will cherish it : No natural exhalation in the sky, No scape of nature, no distemper'd day. No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, x\nd call them meteors, prodigies, and signs. Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life. But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Pand. 0, sir, when he shall hear of your approach. If that young Arthur be not gone already Eevn at that news he dies : and then the hearts Of all his people shall revolt from him. And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ; And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath. Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot : And, O, what better matter breeds for you, Than I have nam'd ! — The bastard Faulconbridge Is now in England, ransacking the church, Oftending charity : If but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side ; Or, as a Httle snow, tumbled about. Anon becomes a mountain. noble Dauphin, Go with me to the king: 'Tis wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent : Now that their souls are topfull of offence. For England go ; I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions : Lei us go; If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. ! I [Exeunt 663 ACT IV. KING JOHN. 6CENK 1. ACT IV SCENE I.— Northampton.^^ Castle. A Room in the Enter Hubert and Two Attendants. Huh. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand Within the arras ; when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. \st Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to 't. — [Exeunt Attend. Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Huh. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me ! Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me : He is afraid of me, and I of him : Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? No, indeed, is 't not : And I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert Huh. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to- day : In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; That I might sit all night, and watch with you : I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Huh. His words do take possession of my bosom. — Read here, young Arthur, [Showing a Paper. How now, foolish rheum ! [Aside. 664 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! I must be brief ; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth. And will you ? Huh. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, like the v/atchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; Saying, ¥r'hat lack you? and, Where liesyour grief! Or, What good iove may I perform for you ? Many a poo;- man's son v/oiild have lain still, x\nd ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. And call it, cunning : Do, an if you will : If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill. Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ( These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you ? Huh. I have sworn to do it ; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it. The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation. Even in the matter of mine innocence : Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than haramer'd iron ? An if an angel should have come to me. And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd no tongue but Hubert's, Hub. Come forth. [Stamps He-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, <&c. Do as I bid you do. Arth. O save me, Hubert, save me ! mv eves are out. ACT IV. KING JOHN. Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Huh. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous- roiigh ? I. will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb : I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. Nor look upon the iron angerly : Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you. Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. \st Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attend. Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away ray friend ; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy ? Huh. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair. Any annoyance in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Huh. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : Let me not hold ray tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; Though to no use, but still to look on you ! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserved extremes : See else yourself ; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, A.nd strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hnh. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, S4 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hu- bert : Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight. Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their oflSce : only you do lack That mercy which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Huh. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while You were disguised. Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; Your iracle must not know but you are dead : I '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure. That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. Will not off'end thee. Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert Huh. Silence ; no raore : Go closely in with mc ; Much danger do I undergo for thee. \_Exeiint SCENE II.— The Same. A Room of State in the Palace. Enter King John, crowned ; Pembroke, Salis- bury, and other Lords. The King takes his State. K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crovYu'd,'* And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful, eyes. Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd. Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; Fresh expectation troubled not the land, With any long'd-for change, or better statc- Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp. To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 665 ACT IV. KING JOHN. 8CENK n. Pem. But that yoar royal pleasure must be done, This act is as an ancient tale new told ; And, in the last repeating, troublesome. Being urged at a time unseasonable. Sal. In this, the antique ancl well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured : And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, ft makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; Startles and frights consideration ; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on bo new a fashion'd robe. Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well. They do confound their skill in covetousness : And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new- crown'd. We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highness To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; Since all and every part of vv'hat we would. Doth make a stand at what your highness will. K. John. Some reasons of this double corona- tion I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) I shall indue you with : Mean time, but ask What you would have reform'd, that is not well ; And well shall you perceive, how willingly I will both hear and grant you your requests. Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these. To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) Both for myself and them, (but chief of all. Your safety, for the which myself and them Bend their best studies,) heartily request The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent To break into this dangerous argument, — If, what in rest you have, in right you hold. Why should your fears, (which, as they say, at- tend The steps of wrong,) then move you to mew up Your tender kinsman, and to ehoke his days With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich advantage of good exercise ? That the time's enemies may not have this 666 To grace occasions, let it be our suit, That you have bid us ask his liberty ; Which for our goods we do no further ask. That whereupon our weal, on you depending, Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. K. John. Let it be so ; I do commit his youth Enter Hubert. To your direction.— Hubert, what news with you ? Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed; He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : The image of a wicked, heinous fault Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast, And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the king doth come and ^o Between his purpose and his conscience. Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set ; His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. Pem. And when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand : — Good lords, although my will to give is living. The suit Avhich you demand is gone and dead ; He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. Pem. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was. Before the child himself felt he was sick : This must be answer'd, either here or hence. K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me ? Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ? Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? Sal. It is aj^parent foul play ; and 'tis shame, That greatness should so grossly offer it : So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I '11 go with thee. And find the inheritance of this poor child, His little kingdom of a forced grave. That blood, which ow'd the breath of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while This must not be thus borne : this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. [^Exeunt Lords. K. John. They burn in ndignation ; I repent ; ACT IV. KING JOHN. SOKNB n. There is no sure foundation set on blood ; No certain life acliiev'd by others' death.— Enter a Messenger. A fearful eye thou hast : Where is that blood, That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? So foul a sky clears not without a storm : Pour down thy weather : — How goes all in France ? Mess. From France to England. — Never such a power For any foreign preparation, Was levied in the body of a land ! The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; For, when you should be told they do prepare. The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk ? Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's care ? That such an army could be drawn in France, And she not hear of it ? Mess. My liege, her ear Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died Your nobl" 'tiother : And, as I hear, my lord. The lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before : but this from rumoi-'s tongue I idly heard; if true or false, I know not. K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead ? How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — Under whose conduct came those powers of France, That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ? Mess. Under the Dauphin. Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret„ K. John. . Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuff My head with more ill news, for it is full. Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. K. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amaz'd Under the tide : but now I breathe again Aloft the flood ; and can give audience To any tongue, speak it of what it will. Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen. The sums I have collected shall express. But, as I travelled hither through the land, I find the people strangely fantasied ; Possess'd with rumors, full of idle dreams ; Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : And here 's a prophet" that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found With many hundreds treading on his heels ; To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding I'liymes, That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon. Your highness should deliver up your crown. K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him And on that day, at noon, whereon, he says, I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd : Dehver him to safety, and return. For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, [Exit Hub. ivith Peter Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd ? Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full of it : Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) And others more, going to seek the grave Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night On your suggestion. K. John. Gentle kinsman, go. And thrust thyself into their companies : I have a way to win their loves again ; Bring them before me. Bast. I will seek them out. K. John. Nay, but make haste : the better foot before. 0, let me have no subject enemies. When adverse foreigners affright my towns With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ; And fly, like thought, from them to me again. Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. \Exit. K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentle- man. — Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; And be thou he. Mess. With all my heart, my liege. \ISvit. K. John. My mother dead ! Re-enter Hubert. Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night : Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wond'rous motion. K. John. Five moons ? Huh. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 667 ACT IV. KING JOHN. SCENE m. Do prophesy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear ; And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; Whilst he that hears makes fearful action. With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. And whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand. Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent : Another lean unwash'd artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Huh. Had none, ray lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant To break within the bloody house of Hfe : And, on the winking of authority. To undei-stand a law ; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humor than advis'd respect.^® Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation ! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds. Makes ill deeds done ! Hadest not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame. This murder had not come into my mind : But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, Finding thee fit for bloody villainy. Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Huh. My lord, K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed ; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 668 As bid me tell my tale in express words ; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off. And those thy fears might have wrought feai-s in me : But thou didst understand me by my signs. And didst in signs again parley with sin, Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. — Out of my sight, and never see me more ! My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd. Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between ray conscience, and my cousin's death. Huh. Arm you against your other enemies, I 'II make a peace between your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. Within this bosom never enter'd yet The dreadful motion of a mur.d'rous thought,*' And you have slander'd nature in my form ; Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live ? 0, haste thee to the peers. Throw this report on their incensed rage. And make them tame to their obedience ! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind. And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not ; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste: I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fest. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Same. Before the Castle. Enter Arthur, on the Walls. Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : — ^* Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — There 's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. I am afraid ; and yet I '11 venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs. AC!T rv. KING JOHN. SCENE m. I '11 find a thousand shifts to get away : As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. \Leaps down. me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at saint Edmurd's- Bury ; It is our safety, ana we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time. Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal 1 Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love, Is much more general than these lines import.*^ Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we met. Enter the Bastard. Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords ! The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; We will not line his sin bestained cloak With our pure honours, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks ; Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst. Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; rherefore, 't were reason, you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath this privilege. Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? [Seeing Arth. Pem. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld. Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see ? could thought, without this object, Form such another ? This is the very top. The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke. That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the tears of soft remorse. Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in this And this, so sole, and so unmatchable. Shall give a holiness, a purity. To the yet-unbegotten sin of time ; And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; The graceless action of a heavy hand. If that it be the work of any hand. Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — We had a kind of light, what would ensue : It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vow, a holy vow ; Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight. Nor conversant with ease and idleness, Till I have set a glory to this hand, By giving it the worship of revenge. Pem. Big. Our souls rehgiously confirm thy words. Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you ; Arthur doth live ; the king halh sent for you, Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death :— Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! Huh. I am no villain. Sal. Must I rob the law ? [Draioing his sword. Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as youi-s . I would not have you, lord, forget yourself. Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ;'° Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobilit} . Big. Out, dunghill I dar'st thou brave a noble^ man ? Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend My innocent life against an emperor. 6A9 Acr :v. KING JOHN. SCENE III. I I ^«/. Thou art a murderer. Huh. Do not prove me so ; Vet, I am none :" Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, .Vot truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. Pern. Cut him to pieces. Bast. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulcon- bridge. Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : [f thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I '1! strike thee dead. Put up thy svi^ord betime ; Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell. Biff. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon- bridge ? Second a villain, and a murderer ? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who kill'd this prince? Huh. 'T is not an hour since I left him well : I lionour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villainy is not without such rheum ; And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; For I am stifled with this smell of sin. Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there ! Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. \Exeunt Lords. Bast. Here 's a good world ! — Knew you of this fair work ? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Art thou damn'd, Hubert. Hub. Do but hear me, sir. Bast. Ha 1 I'll tell thee what; Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black ; 670 Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer : There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.^^ Hub. Upon my soul, Bast. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee ; a i-ush will be A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drowT thyself. Put but a little water in a spoon. And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up. I do suspect thee very grievously. Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! I left him well. Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. — I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — How easy dost thou take all England up ! From forth this morsel of dead royalty. The life, the right, and truth of all this realm Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty. Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest. And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : Now powers from home, and discontents at home, Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, And follow me with speed ; I '11 to the king : . A th >usand businesses are brief in hand. And heaven i^self dcth frown upon the land. \£xexmt r-" ACT V. KING JOHJ^. SCENE I. ACT Y. I ! SCENE l.—The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King John, Pandulph with the Crown, and Attendants. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Pand. Take again [^Giving John the Grown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope. Your sovereign greatness and authority. K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the French ; And from his holiness use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt ; Our people quarrel with obedience ; Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of mistemperd humour Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not ; for the present time s so sick. That present medicine must be minister'd, Or overthrow incurable ensues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up. Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; But, since you are a gentle convertite. My tongue shall hush again this storm of war. And make fair weather in your blustering land. On this Ascension-day, remember well. Upon your oath of service to the pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. {Exit. K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, My crown I should give off? Even so I have : I did suppose, it should be on constraint ; But, heaven be thank'd, it is but vcl'mtary. Enter the Bastard. Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing thv e holds out, But Dover castle ; London hath receiv'd. Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy ; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends. K. John. Would not my lords return to me again. After they heard young Arthur was alive ? Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets : An empty casket, where the jewel of life By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust. Govern the motion of a kingly eye ; Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; Threaten the threat'ner, aid outface the brow Of bragging ho'-:. . so shall inferior eyes, That boiiow their behaviours from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away ; and glister like the god of war, When he intendeth to become the field : Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? 0, let it not be said ! — Courage, and run To meet displeasure further from the doors ; And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh. K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me. And I have made a happy peace with him ; And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers Led by the Dauphin. Bast. inglorious league 1 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, Send fair-play offers, and make compromise, Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, A cocker'd silken wanton brave our fields, And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil. Mocking the air with colours idly spread. And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms : Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; Or if he do, let it at least be said, They saw we had a purpose of defence. 671 KING JOHN. scEws n. K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. Bast. Away then, with good courage ; yet, I know, Our party may well meet a prouder foe. \Exeunt. SCENE n.~^ Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. Leio. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, And keep it safe for our remembrance ; Return the precedent to these lords again ; That, having our fair order written down, Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, May know wherefore we took the sacrament, And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear A voluntary zeal, and unurgVl faith, To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, prince, I am not glad that such a sore of time Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. And heal the inveterate canker of one wound, By making many : O, it grieves my soul. That I must draw this metal from my side To be a widow-maker ; 0, and there, Where honourable rescue, and defence, Cries out upon the name of Salisbury : But such is the infection of the time. That, for the health and physic of our right, We cannot deal but with the very hand Of stern injustice and confused wrong. — And is 't not pity, O my grieved friends ! That we, the sons and children of this isle. Were born to see so sad an hour as this : Wherein we step after a stranger march Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) To grace the gentry of a land remote. And follow unacquainted colours here ? What, here ? — nation, that thou could'st remove ! That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; Where these two Christian armies might combine The blood of malice in a vein of league, And not to spend it so unneighbourly I Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this ; And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility. 872 O, what a noble combat hast thou fought, Between compulsion and a brave respect ! Let me wipe oft" this honourable dew. That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation : But this eftusion of such manly drops. This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd Than had I seen the vanity top of heaven Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, And with a great heart heave away this storm : Commend these waters to those baby eyes, That never saw the giant world enrag'd ; Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand rW deep Lito the purse of rich prosperity, As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all. That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. Enter Pandulph, attended. And even there, methinks, an angel spake : Look, where the holy legate comes apace. To give us warrant from the hand of heaven, And on our actions set the name of right, With holy breath. Pand. Hail, noble prince of France The next is this, — king John hath reconcil'd Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy church, The great metropolis and see of Rome : Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; That, like a lion foster'd up at hand. It may lie gently at the foot of peace, And be no further harmful than in show. Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back ; I am too high-born to be propertied, To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man. and instrument, To any sovereign state throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself, And brought in matter that should feed this fire And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it. You taught me how to knc^v the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to thia land, ACT V. KING JOHN. SCENE II. Yea, thrust tliis enterprise into my heart; And come you now to tell me, John hath made His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me? I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back. Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ? Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne. What men pi'ovided, what munition sent. To underprop this action ? is 't not I, That undergo this charge? who else but I, And such as to my claim are liable. Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? Have I not heard these islanders shout out, " Vive le Roy /" as I have bank'd their towns ? Have I not here the best cards for the game, To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set ? No, on my soul, it never shall be said. Pand, You look but on the outside of this work. Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war. And cuird these fiery spirits from the world. To outlook conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — l^Trumpet sdxmds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? Enter the Bastard, attended. Bast. According to the fair play of the world. Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak : My holy lord of Milan, from the king [ come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; And as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue. Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite. And will not temporise with my entreaties ; He flatly says, he 'U not lay down his arras. Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well : — Now hear our English king : For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd ; and reason too, he should : Th.s apish and unmannerly approach, Y\\Vr, harness'd masque, and unadvised revel. This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops," The king doth smile at : and is well prepar'd To "whip this dwai-fish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his tenitories. 85 That hand, which had the strength, even at youi door, To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ;" To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells ; To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ; To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and piisons ; and to thrill, and shake, Even at the crowing of your nation's cock. Thinking his voice an armed Euglislnnan ; — Shall that victorious hand be feebled here. That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No : Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ; And like an eagle o'er his aery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — And you degenei'ate, you ingrate revolts. You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear inother England, blush for shame : For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids. Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change. Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. Lexo. There end thy brave, and turn thy faf this tradition in the introduction to this play. None ' f the historians who wrote within sixty years after the death of John, allude to this improbable story. Thomas Wykes is the first who relates it, in his Chronicle, as a report. Death produced by a violent poison would have been as rapid as the poet represented it, but John's illness lasted nearly three days, and he had for some time previously been much harassed in body and dis- tressed in mind. Notwithstanding that his life had been passed in avowed irrcligion, the terror-stricken tyrant breathed almost his last words into tlie ears of a priest. The Abbot of Croxtou asked him whjre he would be buried ? With a faint groan John answered, " I commend my soul to God, and my body to St. Wulstan." =* Enter Prince Henry. This prince was but nine years old when his fatlier died. He reigned over England during a period of fifty-six years, but tlie Earl of Pembroke was regent until the death o. that nobleman. =" And Tnodule of confounded royalty. Module an i model had, in Shakesi^eare's time, the ^ame meaning, or were different modes tt spelling the same word. II. T 680 ling IRirljaii t|f ^nm\. DETWEEN the death of John and the commencement of this play four kings had successively worn the crown of England, and a period of nearly two centuries had elapsed ; but this and the seven plays which follow are one continuous history. A certain connexion is kept up between them, and they may be termed one perfect historical romance, of which the different plays constitute the books, and the acts and scenes the chapters. These historic dramas must be regarded as lofty fictions, fiction teaching truth ; great political parables, based on facts, but rearing their high and graceful pinnacles into the realms of imagination. But if they are pronounced to be strict literal history, then must we say that much of histoiy is merely what Napoleon declared it to be—" a fiction agreed upon." Richard ascended the throne in 1377, when but in his eleventh year; but notwithstanding his youth he was respected as the son of Edward the famous Black Prince, the darling of the people and as the grandson of the powerful and popular mouarch Edward the Third. Shakespeare in this drama passes over one-and-twenty turbulent years of Richard's reign, and confines himself to the incidents of the two last ; commencing with the accusation by Bolingbroke of the Duke of Norfolk of treason. Richard committed a great error in banishing these noblemen ; during his whole reign he had been oppressed by the power of his uncles and others of his great nobility. His policy should have been to let them quarrel and fight among themselves, and thus have rendered each a counterpoise to the power of the rest. To banish Hereford was both unjust and impolitic, but to seize his estates on the death of his father, John of Gaunt, was grossly dishonest. This arbitrary act tore the crown from Richard's temples, and paved the gloomy road to his murder-tainted cell at Pomfret. It brought the banished duke to England, ostensibly to obtain his paternal estates, but in reality to seize the crown. Encouraged by his own popularity in England, by Richard's absence, and the general discontent of both nobles and people, the crafty Bolingbroke returned and landed at Ravenspur with but sixty attendants ; but he had chosen his time wisely, and was soon at the head of an army of sixty thousand men. Weak, dissipated, and frivolous as Richard was, he gave, on some few occasions, evidences of great courage and promptitude of character. His conduct on the death of the rebel Tyler at Smith- field, when he disarmed the fury of the populace by riding boldly up to them, and exclaiming, "What are ye doing, my people ? Tyler was a traitor — I am your king, and I will be your captain and guide," was courageous and decisive. Such heroism in a boy of fifteen, promised great talents in his maturity. The spirit of his father seemed to animate him on that occasion. Of a similar character was his conduct to his tyrannical uncle Gloucester, whose ambitious schemes had robbed the young king of all real power, and left him but the shadow of a sceptre, by placing the government in the hands of a commission of the nobles. In a full council, Richard, suddenly addressing his uncle, said, "How old do you think I am ?" " Your highness," replied the duke, "is in your twenty-second year." " Then," continued the king, " I am surely of age to manage my own affairs. I have been longer under the control of guardians than any ward in my dominions. I thank ye, my lords, for your past services, but I want them no longer." And he thereupon disso'ved the commission, and resumed the exercise of bis royal authority. But his mind appears to have been swayed by no just s^ 681 KING RICHARD THE SECOND. principles, and if for a time be won the esteem of his nobles or his people, he soon contrived by some selfish or tyrannical act to erase the favourable impression he had made. Had he possessed a just and firm mind, he might have become the most popular and absolute monarch this country had yet acknowledged. The great insurrection of the peasantry was an inci- dent he could have turned to his own advantage ; had he kept ftiith with these ignorant and misguided people, he would have reigned their sovereign indeed, enthroned in their rude affections, kinged in their hearts. How he did keep his word with them, the headsman and the hangman best could tell. Promise-breaking and perfidy appear to have been vices of royalty, and they are vices behind which ever stalks the grim and gaunt avenger ; treachery always calls down upon itself its own punishment. It led the vacillating Richard to a horrible death in Porafret Castle, and in later times it brought another English monarch (whose cliaracter bore many points of resemblance to that of Richard) to perish on the scaffold, in the capital of his own land, and surrounded by his own people. It is doubtful whether Shakespeare is correct in his account of the murder of the deposed monarch : it was long believed that he was dispatched by Sir Piers Exton and others of his guards, but it is now generally supposed tha;t he was starved to deatli in prison ; and it is added that the wretched captive lived a fortnight after all food was denied him. History is little more than a fearful record of crimes, at the bare relation of which humanity sliudders ; and in these barbarous times almost all men appear to have been either oppressors or oppressed. This drama was first entered at Stationers' Hall by Andrew Wise, August 29, 159V, and is supposed to have been written in the same year. There was a play upon this subject in existence before Shakespeare's, but it appears to liave been- laid aside on the production of his drama, and has iince perished. 682 PEESONS EEPEESEKTED, King Richard the Second. Appear s, Act 1. sc. 1 ; sc. 3 ; sc, 4. Act II. so. 1. Act III. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. so. 1 ; sc. 5. ?i;mumd of Langley, Duke o/" York, and Uncle to the King. Appears, Ac II. sc. 1; sc. 2; sc. 8. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act V. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 2; so. 3; sc. 6. John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Uncle to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 2; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1. Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, Son to John of Gaunt ; afterwards King Henry the Fourth. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 3. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 8. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 8; sc. 6. Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York. Appears, Act I. sc. 3 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 2 ; so. 8. Act IV. so. 1. Act V. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 8. Duke of Surrey. Appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Earl op Salisbury^. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 2 ; sc. 8. Earl Berkley. Appears, Act II. sc. 3. Earl of Northumberland. Appears, Aot II. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act III. sc. 1 ; so. 3. Act IV. 80 1. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 6. Henry Percy, his Son. Appears, Act II. sc. 3. Act III. so. 1 ; so. 8. Act IV. so. 1. Act V. so. 3 ; sc. 6. Lord Ross, Lord Willoughby, Appear, Act II. so. 1 ; sc. 8. Act III. sc. 1. Lord Fitzwater. appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc 6. Bishop of Carlisle. rs, Act III. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. bo. 6, Abbot of Westminster. Appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Lord Marshal. Appears, Act I. so. 8. ^, ' [ Favourites of the Kinff Green, ) ^ o Appear, Act I. sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc, 1. Bagot, also a Favourite of the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act IV, 3c. ] Sir Stephen Scroop. Appears, Act III. sc, 2 ; sc. 3. Sir Pierce of Exton. Appears, Act V. sc. 4 ; sc. 5 ; sc. 6. Captain of a Band of Welchmen Appears, Act II. sc. 4. A Gardener. Appears, Act III. sc. 4. A Groom. Appears, Act V. sc. 5. Queen to King Richard. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 4. Act V. M L Duchess of Gloucester. Appears, Act I. so. 2. Duchess of York. Appears, Act V. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Ladies attending on the Queen. Appear, Act III. sc. 4. Act V. sc. 1. Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Keeper, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Dis])ersedhj in England and Wales. 683 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF litig tojmrii tjie §mnt ACT I. SCENE I. — London. A. Boom in the Palace. Enter King Richard, attmded ; John of Gaunt, and other Nob.es, with him. K. Rich, Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, ELast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son ; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Gaunt. I have, my liege. K. Rich. Tell rae moreover, hast thou sounded him, [f he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; Or worthily as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him ? Gaunt. Ks, near as I could sift him on that argument, — On some apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence ; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : — [Exeunt some Attends. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, Tn rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter Attendants, with Bolinobroke and Norfolk. Boling. Full many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ; 684 Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown ! K. Rich. We thank you both : 70^ one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come ; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my speech !) In the devotion of a subject's love. Tendering the precious safety of my prince. And free from wrath or misbegotten hate. Come I appellant to this princely presence. — Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traifbr, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 'T is not the trial of a woman's war. The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, ACT I. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE I. As to be hush'd, and naught at all to say : First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him ; Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain : Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable' Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of a king. And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop ; By that, and all the rights of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear, Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, I '11 answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mow- bray's charge ? It must be great, that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him.^ Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true ; — That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness* soldiers ; The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will iu battle prove, — Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, — That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land. Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, — and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death \ Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ; And, consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood : Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me, for justice, and rough chastisement ; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolutid soars ! — Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood,' How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears : Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my fother's brother's son,) Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow. Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ; He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers : The other part reserv'd I by consent ; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upon remainder of a clear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen Now swallow down that lie. For Glos er's death, I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace, Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul : But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope, I had it. This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd, It issues fi'om the' rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor : Which in myself I boldly will defend ; And interchangeably hurl down my gage 686 ACT I, KING RICHARD THE SECOND. S(!ENE n. Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me ; Let 's purge this choler without letting blood : This we prescribe though no physician ; Deep malice makes too deep incision : Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ; Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age:— Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Gaunt. AVhen, Harry ? when ? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there is no boot.'' Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : The one my duty owes ! but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear : The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison. K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots : take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My deai-, dear lord. The purest treasure mortal times afford. Is — spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times- barr'd-up chest Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; Take honour from me, and my life is done : Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ; In that I live, and for that will I die. K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you begin. B')ling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my fathers sight ? Or with pale beggar fear impeach my height 686 Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, ray teeth shall tear The slavish motive' of recanting fear ; And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace. Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. \^Exit Gaunt. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command : Which since we cannot do to make you friends. Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day ; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling diftereflce of your settled hate; Since we cannot atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. — Marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home-alarms. \_Exeunt SCENE IL— The Same. A Room in the Duke o! Lancaster's Palace. Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster. Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood' Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims. To stir against the butchers of his life. , • But since correction lieth in those hands. Which made the fault that we cannot correct. Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? Ed ward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut : But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — One phial full of Edward's sacred blood. One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb, That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st, and breath'st. Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, Wm SSISMliiclima^ . a^ MmrilAcli^Si'!" T/te: i'rfu.re £>/' A^zs az-ri'va-l here in, /irmj/ ACT 1 SCKKl-: rr ACT I. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE in. In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair : In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : That which in mean men we entitle — patience. Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's substitute. His deputy anointed in his fight, Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully. Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister. Duch. Where then, alas ! may I complain myself? "^ Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence. Duch, Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! Or, if misfoilime miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. That they may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A. caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife. With her companion grief must end her life. Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : I take my leave before I have begun ; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all : — Nay, yet depart not so ; Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what ? — With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? Therefore commend me; let him not come there. To seek, out sorrow that dwells every where : Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c.. attending. Enter the Loud Marshal, and Aumerle.' Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ? Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold. Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his Throne; Gaunt, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A Trumpet is sounded, and answered hy anothei Trump)et within. Then enter Norfolk in ar- mour, preceded hy a Herald. K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms : Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed To swear hira in the justice of his cause. Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art. And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arras : Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel : Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk ; Who hither come engaged by my oath, (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me ; And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm. To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me : And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in ar- mour ; 2}receded by a Herald. AT. liich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arras, Both who he is, and why he coraeth hither 687 ! I t KING RICHARD THE SECOND SCENE III. Tims plated in habiliments of war ; And formally according to our law Depose him in the justice of his cause. Mar. What is thy wime? and wherefore com'st thou hither, Before king Richard, in his royal lists ? Against whom coraest thou ? and what 's thy quarrel ? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour. In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk, That he 's a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me ; And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ; Except the marshal, and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; i'heu let us take a ceremonious leave, And loving farewell, of our several friends. Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed. Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. Boling. O, lot no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear ; As confident, as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, [To Lord Mar.] I take my leave of you ;— Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — Not sick, although I have to do with death ; But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at' English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet ; thou, the earthly author of my blood, — [To Gaunt. Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up 688 To reach at victory above my head, — Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat. And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous Be swift like lightning in the execution ; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : Rouse up thy }outhful blood, be valiant and hve. Boling, Mine innoceucy, and Saint George to thrive ! [He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising^ However heaven, or fortune, cast my lut you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, , Against my will, to do myself this wrong. JT. Rich. Cousin, farewell : — and, uncle, bz'd him so; Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exeunt K. Rich, and Train. 690 Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not know, From where you do remain, let pape; show. Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I wiU ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thj words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ? Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quicklj gone. Boling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour ten. Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for plea sure. Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. .Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Yr^ill but remember me, what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages ; and in the end. Having my freedom, boast of nothing else. But that I was a journeyman to grief? Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee ; But thou the king : Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honor, And not — the king exil'd thee : or suppose, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime. Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st ' Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence strew'd ; The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more Than a delightful measure, or a dance : For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man tl at mocks at it, and sets it light. Boling. 0, who can hold a fire in his hand, > KING RICHARU THE SECOND. SCENE IV. Bj thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? Or cloy the hungrj' edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast ? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ? O, no ! the apprehension of the good, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. Gaunt. Como, come, my son, I '11 bring thee on thy way : Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman, [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The Same. A Boom in the King's Castle. Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green ; AUMERLE following. K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so. But to the next highway, and there I left him. K. Rich. And, say, what stoi-e of parting tears were shed ? Aum. 'Faith none by me: except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awak'd the sleeping rheum : and so, by chance. Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted with him ? Auni. Farewell : And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells ; But, since it would not, he had none of me. K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 't is doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people : — How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy ; What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 't were, to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee. With — " Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ;" — As were our England in reversion his. And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Green. Well, he is gone ; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — Expedient manage must be made, my liege ; Ere further leisure yield them further means, For their advantage, and your highness' loss. K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. And, for our coffers — with too great a court, And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand : If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich. They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, And send them after to supply our wants ; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy. Bushy, what news ? Bush. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord ; Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste, To entreat your majesty to visit him. K. Rich. Where hes he ? Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately ! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — Come, gentlemen, let 's all go visit him : Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late ! [Exeunt 691 KING RICHAED THE SECOND. eCENB 1. ACT II ; I i I SCENE I. — London. A Boom in Ely-house. Gaunt on a Couch; the Duke op York, and Others standing hy him. Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath ; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. 0, but they say, the tongues of dying- men Enforce attention, like deep harmony : Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain ; Foi- they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose ; More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives be- fore : The setting sun, and music at the close. As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past : Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds. As, praises of his state ; then, there are found Lascivious metres ; to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen ; Report of fashions in proud Italy ; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after, in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, (So it be new, there 's no respect hov/ vile,) That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose : 'T is breath tliou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last ; 693 For violent fires soon burn out themselves , Small showei-s last long, but sudden stoniis ar< short ; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder : Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself. Against infection, and the hand of war ; This happy breed of men, this little world ; This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the ofiice of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Eng land, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, (For Christ'an service, and true chivalry,) As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son ; This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land. Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : England, bound in with the triumphant sea. Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with sham^ With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ;'" That England, that was wont to conquer others. Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: O, would the scandal vanish with my life. How happy then were my ensuing death ! Enter Kino Richard, and Queen ;" Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Wil- LOUGHBT. York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth ; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more." Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ? KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE I. K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is 't with aged Gaunt ? Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composi- tion ! C)ld Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old : Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt ? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt ; The jjleasure, that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names ? Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K, Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live ? Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st — thou flat- ter'st me. Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill ; 111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land. Wherein thou liest in reputation sick : And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee. A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown. Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame ; Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame, to let this land by lease : But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ? Landlord of England art thou now, not king : Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; And thou K. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Dai-'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood, With fury, from his native residence. Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head. Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoul- ders. Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son ; That blood already, like the pelican. Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, (Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) May be a precedent and witness good, That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood; Join with the present sickness that I have ; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! — These words hereafter thy tormentei's be ! — Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : Love they to live, that love and honour have. [Exit, borne out by his Attend K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sul- lens have ; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and aga in him : He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear. As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. K. Rich. Right ; you say true : as Hereford's love, so liis : As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. K. Rich. What says he how ? North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. York. Be York the next that must be bank- rupt so ! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he ; 698 i I ACT II. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE X. His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be ; So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns ; Which live like venonr^ where no venom else, But only they, hath privilege to live.'' And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance, we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables. Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. York. How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ? Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs. Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage," nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — I am the last of noble Edward's sons. Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first ; In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce. In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. Than was that young and princely gentleman : His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ;" But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, And not against his friends : his noble hand Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won ; His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood. But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. Or else he never would compare between. K. Rich. Why, uncle, what 's the matter ? York. O, my liege, Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I pleas'd Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands. The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? Is not Gaunt dead ? and doth not Hereford live ? Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true ? Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time His charters, and his customary rights ; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; Be not thyself, for how art th du a king. But by fair sequence and succession ? Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patents that he hath 694 By his attornies-general to sue His livery and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. K. Rich. Think what you will ; we seize intc our hands His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York. I '11 not be by, the while : My liege, fare- well : What will ensue hereof, there 's none can tell ; s But by bad courses may be understood. That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight ; Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, To see this business : To-morrow next We will for Ireland ; and 't is time, I trow ; And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England, For he is just^ and always lov'd us well. — Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part , Be merry, for our time of stay is short. \Flourish, \Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aum., Green, and Bagot. North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster ia dead. Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with silence. Ere 't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er speak more, That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford ? If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him ; Unless you call it good, to pity him. Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. North. Now, afore heaven, 't is shame suci wrongs are borne, In him a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers ; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will tlie king severely prosecute i I ACT U. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE U. Gainst us, oui li/es, our chi.dren, and our heirs. Moss. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And lost their hearts : the nobles hath he fin'd For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd ; As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : But what, o' God's name, doth become of this ? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king 's grown bankrupt, like a bro- ken man. North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars. His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king ! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish."' Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ; And unavoided is the danger now. For suffering so the causes of our wreck. North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy life peering ; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts ; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus : — I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence. That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, [The son of Richard Earl of Arundel,] That late broke from the duke of Exeter, His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Raraston, Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Fran- cis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war. Are making hither with all due expedience, And shortly mean to touch our northern shore ', Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. Imp out our drooping country's broken wing," Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crowUj Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's guilt, And make high majesty look like itself. Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg : But if you faint, as fearing to do so. Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them that fear. Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. \Exeunt. SCENE II. — The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad : You promis'd, when you parted with the king. To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please my^ self, I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks. Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul With nothing trembles : at something it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows. Which show like grief itself, but are not so : For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects ; Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon. Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, Distinguish form :'* so your sweet majesty. Looking awry upon your lord's departure. Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail ; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not ; more' s not seen : Or if it be, 't is with false sorrow's eye. Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be, 695 I I i I ACT n. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCESE n. I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, As, — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, — Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink,'^ Bushy. 'T is nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. Queen. 'T is nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd From some fore-father grief; mine is not so ; For nothing hath begot my something grief: Or something hath the nothing that I grieve : 'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; But what it is, that is not yet known ; what I cannot name ; 't is nameless woe, I wot. Enter Green. Green. God save your majesty ! — and well met, gentlemen : — I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 't is better hope, he is ; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipjD'd ? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power. And driven into despair an enemy's hope. Who strongly hath set footing in this land ; The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd At Ravenspurg. Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! Green. O, madam, 't is too true : and that is worse, — The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy, The lords of Ross, Beauraond, and Willoughby, With nil their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- berland, And all the rest of the revolting faction Traitors ? Green. We have : whereon the earl of Wor- cester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe. And Bolingbroke ray sorrow's dismal heir : Now hath ray soul brought forth her prodigy ; And I, a gasping lew-deliver'd mother. Have woe to woe sorrow to sorrow join'd. Bushy. Despair not, madam. Queen. Who shall hinder me ? 696 I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter York. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck • 0, full of careful business are his looks ! Uncle, For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. York. Should I do so, I should belie va\ thoughts : Comfort 's in heaven ; and we are on the earth. Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off. Whilst others come to make him lose at home : Here am I left to underprop his land ; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came York. He was ? — Why, so ! — go all which way it will ! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold. And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, Get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloster ; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : — Hold, take my ring. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship : To-day, as I came by, I called there ; — But I shall grieve you to report the rest. York. What is it, knave ? Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! I know not what to do : — I would to God, (So ray untruth had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my broth er's.— ^o What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ? How shall we do for money for these wars ? — Come, sister, — cousin, I would say : pray, pardon me. — Go, fellow, [To the Servant,] get thee home, pro- vide some carts. And biing away the armour that is there. — [Exit Serv. ACT II. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. bCENK III. Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know How, or which way, to order these aiFairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands. Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; — The one 's my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend ; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wronged ; Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I '11 Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too : But time will not permit : — All is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. [£Jxeunt York and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to the enemy. Is all impossible. Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love. Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. And that 's the v/avering commons : for their love Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them. By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. Because we ever have been near the king. Green. Well, I '11 for refuge straight to Bristol castle ; The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little oflSce The hateful commons will perform for us ; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — Will you go along with us ? Bagot. No ; I '11 to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he under- takes Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry ; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now i North. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome : And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ; Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel : But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess : And hope to joy, is little less in joy. Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here ? Enter Harry Percy. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — Harry, how fares your uncle ? Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have leam'd his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the queen ? Percy. No, ray good lord ; he hath forsook the court. Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the king. North. What was his reason ? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake to- gether. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford, And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there ; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. 697 KING RICHAKD THE SECOND. SCENE 111. Noi'th. Then learn to know him now ; this is the duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Sjch as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert. Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, T count myself in nothing else so happy. As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends ; j And, as my fortune ripens with thy love. It shall be still thy true love's recompense : My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus •* seals it. North. How far is it to Berkley ? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war ? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour ; None else of name, and noble estimate. Enter Ross and Willoughby. North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- loughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Boling. Welcome, my lords : I wot, your love pursues A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd Shall be your love and labour's recompense. Boss. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to yeai-s, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here ? Enter Berkley. North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; And I am come to seek that name in England : And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 't is not my meaning, To raze one title of your honour out ; — 698 To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) From the most glorious regent of this land. The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time,*' And fright our native peace with self-bonie arms. Enter York, attended. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you ; Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle ! [Kneels. York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee. Whose duty is deceivable and false. Boling. My gracious uncle 1 — York. Tut, tut ! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word — grace. In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground ? But then more why ; Why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war. And ostentation of despised arms f^ Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence ? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the rank of many thousand French ; O, then, how quickly should this a^jp of mine, Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy fault ! Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein ? York. Even in condition of the worst degree — In gross rebellion, and detested treason : Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford ; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye :** You are my father, for, methinks, in you I see old Gaunt aUve ; O, then, my father ' Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd Acr II. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE IV. A wand'ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? If that my cousin king be king of England, It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down. He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters-patent give me leave: My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do ? I am a subject. And challenge law : Attornies are denied me : And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. North. The noble duke hath been too much «bus'd. Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, — I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right : But in this kind to come, in braving arras, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong, — it may not be ; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. North. The noble duke hath sworn, his com- ing is But for his own : and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid : And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms : I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak, and all ill left : But, if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; But, since I cannot, be it known to you, I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; — Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night. Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But we must win your grace, to go with us To Bristol castle ; which, they say, is held By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth. Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. York. It may be, I will go with you : — but yet I '11 pause ; For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : Things past redress, are now with me past care. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— ^ Camp in Wales. Enter Salisbury, and a Captain. Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welsh- man ; The king reposeth all his confidence In thee. Cap. 'T is thought, the king is dead ; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd. And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth. And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; Rich men look sad, and ruflSans dance and leap, — The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy. The other, to enjoy by rage and war ; These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. — Farewell ; our countrymen are gone and fled. As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit, Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a shooting star, Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west. Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest : Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. ACT III. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE 1. ACT III SCENE L— Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, Willoughby, Ross : Officers behind with Bushy and Green, prisoners. Boling. Bring forth these men. — Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 't were no charity : yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here, in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. You have, in manner, with your sinful hours. Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; Near to the king in blood ; and near in love. Till you did make him misinterpret me, Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, ^~ And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment : Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods. From my own windows torn my household coat,^* Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, — Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — To show the world I am a gentleman. This, and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death : — See them deliver'd over To execution and the hand of death. Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, llian Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatch 'd. [Exeunt North, and Others, with Prisoners. ion Uncle, you say, the queen is at your hoase For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated : Tell her, I send to her my kind commends ; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away; ..^ / To fight with Glendower and his complices f^ ' \ Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. \_£Jxeu7it. SCENE 11.— The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish : Drums and Trumpets. Enter Kino Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and Soldiers. K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand ? Aum. Yea, my lord : How brooks your grace the air. After late tossing on the breaking seas ? K. Rich. Needs must I like it well ; I weep for joy. To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : As a long parted mother, with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles, in meeting ; So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth. And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense : But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way ; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her na ive king Shall falter under foul rebellious arras. Acr III. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE n. Bishop. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made you king, Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd. And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse ; The proffer'd means of succour and redress. Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss ; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not. That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, boldly here ; But when, from under this terrestrial ball. He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole. Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs. Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes, — Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sm. Not all tlie water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king : The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord :^^ For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd. To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel : then, if angels fight. Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome, nfy lord : How far off lies your power ? Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue. And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear, my noble lord. Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting- men ! To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace so pale ? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side ; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king ? Awake, thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names ? Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground. Ye favourites of a king : Are we not high ? High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who Comes here ? Enter Scroop. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege. Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre- par'd ; The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 't was my care ; And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, We '11 serve him too, and be his fellow so : Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us : Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; The worst is — death, and death will have hia day. Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shareti. As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears ; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbr "»ke, covering your fearful land 701 i ACT III, KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE n. With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices. Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew^^ against thy state ; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat : both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot ? What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption ! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart ! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property. Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands : those whom you curse, Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Axim. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- shire, dead ? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power ? K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man speak : Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let 's choose executors, and talk of wills : And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? Onr lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 702 And nothing can we call our own, but death ; And that small model of the barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground. And tell sad stories of the death of king§ : — How some have been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; AH murder'd : — For within the hollow crown. That rounds the mortal temples of a king. Keeps death his court : and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks : Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — As if this flesh, which walls about our life. Were brass impregnable ; and, humour'd thus. Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king ! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty. For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief. Need friends : — Subjected thus. How can you say to me — I am a king ? Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes. But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to fight ; And fight and die, is death destroying death ; Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. Aura. My father hath a power, enquire of liim ; And learn to make a body of a limb. K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Bol- ingbroke, I come, To change blows with thee for our day of doom, This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ; An easy task it is, to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ' Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Scroop. Men judge by the comp^ion of the sky The state and inclination of the day : So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small. To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke ; ACT III. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE III. And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To AuM. Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! What say you now ? What comfort have we now ? By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly, That bids me be of comfort any more. Go, to Flint castle ; there I '11 pine away ; A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge ; and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none : — Let no man speak again To alter this, for council is but vain. Aum. My liege, one word. K. Rich. He does me double wrong. That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away, From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint Castle. Enter, with Drum, and Colours, Bolingbroke and Forces ; York, Northumberland, and others. Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn. The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, With some few private friends, upon this coast. North. The news is very fair and good, my lord ; Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. Yoxjc. It would beseem the lord Northumber- land, To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day. When such a sacred king should hide his head ! North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief, Left I his title out. York. The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, lo shorten you. For taking so the head,^ your whole head's length. Boling. flistake not, uncle, further than you should. York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should. Lest you mis-take : The heavens are o'er your head. Boling. 1 know it, uncle ; and oppose not Myself against their will, — But who comes here ? Enter Percy. Well, Harry ; what, will not this castle yield ? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. Boling. Royally ! Why, it contains no king ? Percy. Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king ; king Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone : And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop : besides a clergyman Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. Boling. Noble lord, [To North. Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. Harry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand ; And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, To his most royal person : hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power ; Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power. And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd English- men : The which, how far off from the mind of Boling- broke It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land. My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much ; while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. — [North, advances to the Castle, with a Trumpet. Let 's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, That from the castle's totter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven Be he the fire, I '11 be the yielding water : The rage be his, while on the earth I rain My waters ; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. A parle sounded, and answered by another Trum- pe' within. Floimsh. Enter on the walls, 708 ACT III. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE 1X1. King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au- MERLE, Scroop, and Salisbury. York. See, see, king Richard doth himself ap- pear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east; When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory, and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the Occident. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty : Alack, alack, for woe, That any arm should stain so fair a show ! K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To North. Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence ? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre. Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think, that all, as you have done. Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, And we are barren, and bereft of friends ; Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent, Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf. Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. That lift your vassal hands against my head. And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) That every stride he makes upon ray land, Is dangerous treason : he is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war ; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face ; Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand ; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, 704 Curi'ents that spring from one most gracious heav! ; And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ; And by the worth and honour of himself. Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — His coming hither hath no further scope. Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees : Which on thy royal party granted once. His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. K, Rich. Northumberland, say, — thas the king returns ; His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction : With all the gracious utterance thou hast. Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To AuM. To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? Aum. No, good my lord ; let 's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. K. Rich. God ! God ! that ere this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off" again With words of sooth ! 0, that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been ! Or not remember what I must be now ! Swell'st thou, proud heart ? I '11 give thee scope to beat. Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- broke. K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must he submit ? The king shall do it. Must he be de|5osVl ? The king shall be contented : Must he lose The name of king ? o' God's name, let it go : I '11 give my jewels, for a set of beads ; My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ; My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown ; My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood; My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staflf ; Am in. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE IV. My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ; And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little, little grave, au obscure grave : — Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway. Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live ; And, buried once, why not upon my head ? Aumerle, thou weep'st ; My tender-hearted cou- sin ! — We '11 make foul weather with despised tears ; Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn. And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding teai-s? As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place, Til! they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid, — "There lies Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes ?" Would not this ill do well ? — Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — ay. North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you ; may 't please you to come down ? K. Rich. Down, down, I come ; like glistering Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. [North, retires to Bolino. In the base court ? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. In the base court ? Come down ? Down, court ! down king ! For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing. \Exeunt,from above. Boling. What says his majesty ? North. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : Yet he is come Unter King Richard, and his Attendants, below. Boling. Stand all apart. And show fair duty to his majesty. My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee, To make the base earth proud with kissing it ; Me rather had, my heart might feel your love. Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, [^Touching his own head^ al- though your knee be low, Boling. My gracious lord. I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours and all. Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. K. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserv« to have. That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — Cousin, I am too young to be your father. Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I '11 give, and willing too, For do we must, what force will have us do. — Set on towards London : — Cousin, is it so ? Boling. Yea, my good lord. K. Rich. Then I must not say, no [Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV.— Langley. The Duke of Yoi'k's Garden. Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. Queen. What sport shall we devise here in thi garden. To drive away the heavy thought of care? \st Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. Queen. 'T will make me think The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune Runs 'gainst the bias. \st Lady. Madam, we will dance. Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. \st Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales. Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy \st Lady. Of either, madam. Queen. Of neither, girl : For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joj : For what I have, I need not to repeat ; And what I want, it boots not to complain. \st Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. Queen. 'T is well, that thou hast cause 70R ACT III. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. But thou should'st please me bettei, would'st thou weep. Ist Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But sta}', here come the gardeners : Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. — Enter a Gardener, and Two Servants. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They '11 talk of state ; for every one doth so Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. [Queen and Ladies retire. Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth : All must be even in our government. You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds, that without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. \st Serv. Why should we, in the- compass of a pale. Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate ? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd,^^ and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars ? Gard. Hold thy peace : — He that bath sufter'd this disorder'd spring, Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ; r mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, and Green. \st Serv. What, are they dead ? Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh ! what pity is it. That he had not so trinim'd and dress'd his land. As we this garden ! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees ; Leat, being over-proud with sap and blood. With too much riches it confound itself : 106 Had he done so to great and growing men, They might bave liv'd to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. \st Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be depos'd ? Gard, Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd, 'T is doubt, he will be : Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, That tell black tidings. Queen. 0, 1 am press'd to death, Through want of speaking !'° — Thou, old Adam's likeness, [ Coming from her concealmmt. Set to dress this garden, hoAV dares Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ? What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man ? Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ? Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall ? Say, where, when, a^r' how, Cam'st thou by these ill tidings ? speak, the./ wretch. Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have ^. To breathe this news ; yet, what I say, is true King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of BoHngbroke ; their fortunes both are weigh 'd: In your lord's scale is nothirig but himself, And some few vanities that make him light ; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all tho English peers. And with that odds h? weighs king Riehara down. Post you to London, mil you '11 find it so ; I speak no more than overy one dotb know. Queen. Nimble m'lschance, that art so light of foot. Doth not thy embassage belong to me. And am I last that knows it ? O. thou think'st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go, To meet at London London's king in woe. — What, was I born to this ! that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? — Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, I wouk'. the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. \^Exeunt Qctee* and Ladies ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE I. Oard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. — Here did she drop a tear ; here, in this place, I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. In the remembrance of a weeping queen. \Exeun \ ACT IV. SCENE I.— London. Westminster Hall}- The Lords spiritual on the right side of the Throne ; the Lords temporal on the left ; the Commons below. Enter Bolingbroke, Au- MERLE, SURRET, NORTHUMBERLAND, PeRCY, FiTzwATER, another Lord^ Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and Attendants. Officers behind with Bagot. Boling. Call forth Bagot : Now Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end. Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Auraerle. Boling. Cousin, stjand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard you say, — " Is not ray arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English court As far as Calais, to my uncle's head ?" Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns. Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal, how blest this land would be, In this your cousin's death. Aum. Princes, and noble lords. What answer shall I make to this base man ? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement ? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his sland'rous lips, There is my gage, the manual seal of death. That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest. And will maintain, wliat thou hast said, is false. In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so. Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies. There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st. I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true, In this appeal, as thou art all unjust : And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage. To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if thou dar'st. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! Lord. I take the earth to the like, forswori! Aumerle ;'* And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st, Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, 1 '11 throw at all : I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you. Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitz. My lord, 't is true : you were in preseiid then; 707 KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE 1. And you can witness with me, this is true. Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. Surrey. ' Dishonourable boy ! That lie shall lie so heavy on ray sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge. Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn ; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse. If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, And lies, and lies ; there is my bond of faith. To tie thee to my strong correction. — As I intend to thrive in this new world,^^ A.umerle is guilty of my true appeal : Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say. That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this,*^ .f he may be repeal'd to try his honour. Boling. These differences shall all rest under Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be. And, though mine enemy, restor'd again To all his land and signories ; when he 's return'd, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. — Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross. Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : And, toil'd with works of war, retlr'd himself To Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's eiirth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ? Car. As sure as I live, my lord. Baling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants. Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign you to your days of trial. En*.er York, attended. Yorlc. Great duke of Lancaster I come to thee 708 From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with Avilliug soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand : Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! Boling. In God's name, I '11 ascend the regal throne. Car. Marry, God forbid !— Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the trui'n. Would God, that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king ? And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them : And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect. Anointed, crowned, planted many years. Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath. And he himself not present ? 0, forbid it, God, That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ' I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — The blood of English shall manure the ground. And future ages groan for this foul act : Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny. Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. O, if you rear this house against this house. It will the woefullest division prove. That ever fell upon this cursed earth ; Prevent, resist it, let it not be so. Lest child, child's children, cry against you — woe ! North. Well have you argu'd, sir ; and, foi your pains, Qi capital treason we arrest you here : — My lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. — May't please you, lords, to grant the commons'' suit. ACT IV, KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE I. Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender , so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer: — Little are we beholden to your love, [To Car. And little look'd for at your helping hands. Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officeis bearing the Crown, <&c. K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd ? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : — Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men : Were they not mine ? Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ? So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve. Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen ? Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, amen. God save the king ! although I be not he ; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — To do what service am I sent for hither ? York. To do that oflSce, of thine own good will. Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The I'esignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. K. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize the crown ; Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well. That owes two buckets filling one another ; The emptier ever dancing in the air. The other down, unseen, and full of water : That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. A. Rich. My crown, I am ; but still my griefs are mine ; You may my glories and my state depose. But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down. My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; Your care is — gain of care by new care won : The cares I give, I have, though given away ; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown 1 K. Rich. Ay, no ; — no, ay ; — for I must noth- ing be ; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself: — I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand. The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; With mine own tears I wash away my balm,'* With mine own hands I give away my crown. With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths ' All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; My manors* rents, revenues, I forego ; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny : God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee ! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ; And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days ! — What more remains ? North. No more, but that you read [ Offering a paper. These accusations, and these grievous crimes. Committed by your person, and your followers. Against the state and profit of this land ; That by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily depos'd. K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record. Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, To read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st, There sbould'st thou find one heinous article, — Containing the deposing of a king. And cracking the strong warrant of an oath. — Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven : — Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me. Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,— Though some of you, with Pilate, Aviish your hands Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. And water cannot wash away your sin. 709 ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles. K. Eich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see : And yet salt water blinds them not so much, But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest : For I have given here my soul's consent. To undeck the pompous body of a king ; Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave ; Proud majesty, a subject ; state, a peasant. North. My lord, K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult- ing man. Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — No, not that name was given me at the font, — But 't is usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out. And know not now what name to call myself! 0, that I were a mockery king of snow. Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops ! — Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,) An if my word be steiling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight ; That it may show me what a face I have. Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking- glass. [^Exit an Attend. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. K. Mich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northum- bei'land. North, The commons will not then be satisfied. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I '11 read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that 's — myself. Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds ? — 0, flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity. Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face. That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men ?^^ Was this the face, 110 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies. And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ? A brittle glory shineth in this face : As brittle as the glory is the fece ; \I)ashes the Glass against the ground, For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de- stroy'd The shadow of your face. IC. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see ; — 'T is very true, my grief Hes all within ; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; There lies the substance ; and I thank thee, king For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I '11 beg one boon. And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it ? Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than a king : For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. Boling. Yet ask. K. Rich. And shall I have ? Boling. You shall. IC. Rich. Then give me leave to go. Boling. Whither? K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good ! Convey ? — Conveyers are you all. That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Uxeunt K. Rich., soine Lords, and a Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation : lords, prepare youiselves. [JSxeunt all but the Abbot, Car., and AuM. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Car. The woe 's to come ; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp tc them as thorn. ACT V. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall noL only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise : — I see your brows are ful"/ of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; Come home with me to supper ; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. \Exeunt ACT Y. SCENE I. — London. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter Queen and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way lo Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,^' To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doora'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. Enter King Richard, and Guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see. My fair rose wither : Yet look up ; behold ; That you in pity may dissolve to dew. And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. — Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb. And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn. Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee. When triumph is become an ale-house guest ? K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so. To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul. To think our former state a happy dream ; From which awak'd, the truth of what we are Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet. To grim necessity ; and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house : Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd, and weakened ? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect ? hath he been in thy heart ? The liou, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like. Take thy correction mildly ? kiss the rod.; And fawn on rage with base humility. Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ? K, Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aughl but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence foi France : Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid : And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief. Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, ■ And send the hearers weeping to their beds. For vvhy, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. And, in compassion, weep the fire out : And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. Enter Northumberland, attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd ; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; With all swift speed you must away to France. K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- withal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends ray throiie,— The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head. Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think. Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all ; 711 ACT V. KIXG RICHARD THE SECOND. HCKMs a. And be shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne'er so httle urg'd, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, To worthy danger, and deserved death. North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part ; for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ? — Bad men, ye vi- olate A twofold marriage : 'twixt my crown and me ; And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; And yetTiot so, for with a kiss 't was made. — Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime : My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp. She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas,^^ or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from Learc. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; Better far off, than — near, be ne'er the near.'^ Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. K. Rich. Twice for one step I '11 groan, the way being short. And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let 's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part 'f Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [They kiss. Queen, Give me mine own again ; 't were no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill tliy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. K Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay : 712 Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. SCENE II. [Exeunt. -The Same. A Room in the Duke of Yoi'k's Palace. Enter York, and his Duchess. Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off Of our two cousins coming into London. York. Where did I leave ? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window's tops. Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling broke, — Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,— With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course. While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling broke ! You would have thought the very windows spako, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls. With painted imag'ry, had said at once,'"' — Jesu preserve thee I welcome, Bolingbroke ! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen : And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? Yo7'k. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next. Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him ; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome horiie : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Wh'.ch with such gentle sorrow lie shook off, — His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, — That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events ; To whose high will we bound onr calm contents. KING RICHARD 'J HE SECOND. SCENE n. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow. Enter Aumerle. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was ; But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : I am in parliament pledge for his truth. And lasting fealty to the new-made king. Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets now. That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and tri- umphs ? Awn. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. Aum. If God prevent it not ; I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom ?^' Vea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. York. No matter then who sees it : I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; It is a matter of small consequence. Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear. Duch. What should you fear? T is nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. — Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may not show it. York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. [^Snatches it, and reads. Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave ! Duc/i. What is the matter, my lord ? York, Ho ! who is within there ? Enter a Serv nt. Saddle my horse. 90 God for his mercy ! what treachery is here ! Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? York. Give me ray boots, I say ; saddle ray horse ; Now by mine honour, by ray life, ray troth, I will appeach the villain. [Exit Serv. Duch. What 's the matter ? York. Peace, foolish woman. Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter, son ? Aum. Good mother, be content : it is no more Than ray poor life must answer. Duch. Thy life answer ' Re-enter Servant, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art amaz'd ; Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. — {To the Serv. York. Give me my boots, I say. Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. And rob me of a happy mother's name? Is he not like thoe ? Is he not thine own ? York. Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament. And interchangeably set down their hands. To kill the king at Oxford. Duch. He shall be none; We '11 keep him here : Then what is that to him ? York. Away, Fond woman I were he twenty times ray son, I would appeach him. Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thoud'st be more pitiful. But now I know thy raind ; thou dost suspect. That I have been disloyal to thy bed. And that he is a bastard, not thy son : Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: He is as like thee as a man may be, Not like to me, or any of my kin, .And yet I love him. York. Make way, unruly woman.. [Exit, Duch. After, Aumerle ; moun' thee upon his horse ; Spur, post ; and get before him to the king, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 713 ACT V. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE in. r '11 not be long behind ; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : And never will I rise up from the ground, Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away ; Deo-one. [Bxeunt. SCENE in. — Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Enter Bolingbroke as king ; Percy, and other Lords. Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 'T is full three months, since I did see him last : — If any plague hang over us, 't is he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found : Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there. For there, they say, he daily doth frequent. With unrestrained loose companions ; Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, A.nd beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy. Takes on the point of honour, to support So dissolute a crew. Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince ; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Baling. And what said the gallant ? Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews ; And from the commonest creature pluck a glove. And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Baling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through both I see some sparkles of a better hope. Which elder days may happily bring forth. But who comes here? Enter Aumerle, hastily. Aum. Where is the king? Baling. What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty. To have some conference with your grace alone. Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. — [Exeunt Percy and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now ? Aum. For ever may my knees grow t.o the earth, [Kneels. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth. Unless a pardon ere I rise, or speak. Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault ? •714 If but the first, how heinous e'er it be. To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the- key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Baling. Have thy desire. [Aum. locks the door. York. [Within^ My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Baling. Villain, I 'U make thee safe. [Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; Thou hast no cause to fear. York. [Within^ Open the door, secure, fool- hardy king : Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ? Open the door, or I will break it open. ' [BoLiNG. opens the dear Enter York. Baling. What ie the matter, uncle ? speak , Recovei' breath ; tell us how near is danger. That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou sha. know The treason that my haste forbids me show. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past : I do repent me ; read not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. York. 'T was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. — I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Baling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy I loyal father of a treacherous son ! Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain. From whence this stream through muddy passages, Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good convor*^ to bad ; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shai::e As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breatl:-, The traitor lives, the true man 's put to death. Duch. [Within ! What hf my liege! for God's sake let me in KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE IV. Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry ? Duck. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door : A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious thing, And now chang'd to "The Beggar and the King."— My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; I know, she 's come to pray for your foul sin. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ; This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Duchess. Duch. king, believe not this hard-hearted man ; Love, loving not itself, nonp other can. York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here ? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient : Hear me, gentle liege. \Kneels. Boling. Rise up, good aunt. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : For ever will I kneel upon my knees. And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy, Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend ray knee. [Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. \Kneels. .11 niay'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his fiice; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast : He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : His weary joints would gladly rise, I know : Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. ^ay» ^^ not say — stand up : But, pardon, first ; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a iVord till now ; Say — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. York. Speak it in French, king ; say, " par- donnez may.'''' Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de- stroy ? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sett'st the word itself against the word ! — Speak, pardon, as 't is current in our land ; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speaV, set thy tongue there : Or, in thy piteous lieart plant thou thine ear : That, hearing how our plants and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain. But makes one pardon strong. Boling. With all my heart I pardon him. Duch. A god on earth thou art. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,** — and the abbot. With all the rest of that consorted crew, — Destruction straifflit shall dosr them at the heels. — Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu : Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Duch. Come, my old son ; — I pray God make thee new. \Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Exton, and a Servant. Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake ? •' Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ?** Was it not so ? 716 ACT V. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. SCENE V. Serv. Those were his very words. Ktton. '' Have I no friend ?" quoth he : he spake it twice, And urg'd it twice together; did he not? Serv. He did. JExton. And, sj>eaking it, he wistfully look'd on me ! As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart ; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let 's go ; I aiu the king's fri *nd, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. Enter King Richard. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare This prison, where I live, unto the world : And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, i cannot do it ; — Yet I '11 hammer it out. My brain I '11 prove the female to my soul ; My soul, the father : and these two beget A ijeneration of still-breedinff thuuMhts, And these same thoughts people this little world ; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, — As thouglits of things divine, — are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word : As thus, — "Come, little ones;" and then again, — " It is as hard to come, as for a camel To thread the postern of a needle's eye." Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wondei-s : how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, — That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars. Who, sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, — That many have, and others must sit there : And in this thought they find a kind of ease. Bearing their own misfortune on the back Of such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented : Sometimes am I king; Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. And so I am : Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king ; 71G Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by. Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing : — But, whate'er I am, Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd With being nothing. — Music do I hear ? [Music Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet music is. When time is broke, and no proportion kept 1 So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear, To check time broke in. a disorder'd string ; But, for the concord of my state and tirr.e, Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they jar Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heait, Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans Show minutes, times, and houis : — but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.^' This music mads me, let it sound no more ; For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits, In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me I For 't is a sign of love ; and love to Richard Is a stranofe brooch in this all-hating world. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince ! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, Where.no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? Oroom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometime master's face. 0, how it yern'd n^y heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day. When Bolingbroke lode on roan Barbary ! That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ; That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend. ACT V KING RICHARD THE SEC0J7D. SCENE VI. How went he uiirler liiin ? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd. the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back ! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back ? Forgiveness, horse 1 why do I rail on theo. Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. Enter Keeper, with a Dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [ Jb the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 't is time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to ? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not ; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The aerii take Henry of Lancaster, and thee ! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. \Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help . Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault ? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and till another room in hell. [He kills another, then Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire. That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, ray soul ! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.'''' [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me — I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I '11 bear ; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt, SCENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter Bolin«broke, and York, with Lords and Attendants. Baling. Kind imcle York, the latest news we hear. Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear aot. Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord : What is the news ? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap- piness. The next news is, — I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. [Presenting a Paper. Doling. W^e thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains ; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxfo; '' sent to Lon- don The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Doling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot ; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West- minster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy. Hath yielded up his body to the grav6 ; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Doling. Carlisle, this is your doom :"* Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 717 ACT V. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. 8CSNK VI. High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Hunter Exton, with Attendants bearinr/ a Coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear ; herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. ITiey love not poison that do poison need, 7xi Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour* With Cain go wander through the shade of night And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe. That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow : Come, mourn with me for what I do lament And put on sullen black incontinent ; I '11 make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty \ and : — March sadly after ; grace my mournings: here, In weeping after this untimely bier, [Exeunt H NOTES TO KIN& RICHARD THE SECOID. ' Inhabitable, i. e. not habitable, uninhabitable. » li must be great that can inherit its So nrnch as of a thought qfill in him. To inlicrit ua is to possess us with ; though this is an un- jommon use of the word. ' Till I have told this slander of his blood. Bolingbroke was the king's cousin ; Mowbray having ac- cused him of falsehood, calls him a slander to the blood of majesty, a disgrace to his royal relative. * There is no boot. That is, there is no advantage in delay or refusal. » The slavish native. His tongue ; motive is used as instrument. » Alas! the part I had in Gloster''s blood. That is, the nearness of my relationship to Gloucester. The Duke of Gloucester was the younger brother of John of Lancaster. ' AuTuerle. Kichard Duke of Aumerle. He was the eldest son of Edward Langley Duke of York, fifth son of King Edward the Third. He officiated at the lists at Coventry, as High Constable of England. s Stay, the hing Itxith thrown his ivarder down. A warder appears to have beeia a kind of truncheon carried by the person who presided at these combats. ^ Compassionate is used for plaintive. ■ bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds. Gaunt is alluding to the king's having farmed out the country to his favourite the earl of "Wiltshire. Mr. Steo- vens says he suspects that the poet wrote inky bolts, that is, written restrictions, as blots cannot bind anything, and holts correspond much better to the word bonds. '" Queen. Tte introduction of tlie queen is an historical error. Eichard had married Ann, sister to the emperor Winces- laus, king of Bohemia, but she was dead before the oora- mencement of the play. Kichard was afterwards affianc-ed to Isabella, daughter of the king of France, but this young princess was but a child at his death. " For hot young colts, being rag^d, do rage the more. Mr. Ritson would read — being rein'd do rage the more. Certainly more elegant, and probably the poet's own word. 13 Which live like venom,, where no ven^om else. But only they have privilege to live. This alludes to the popular tradition that St. Patrick drove every kind of v<^nomous reptile out of Ireland, >< iVw the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage. Bolingbroke was honourably entertained at the French court, and would have been married to the only daughtei of the Duke of Berry, uncle to the French king, had not Eichard interfered and prevented the match. " Accomplish'^ d with the number of thy fixmrt. That is, when he was of thy age. ' " And yet we strike not, but securely perish. To strike the sails, is to contract them when there is too much wind. Northumberland uses the word equivocally to mean we see our danger, and do not ami and strike the man who threatens. " Imp ovt our drooping country'' s broken wing, Wlien a hawk lost some of its wing feathers by any ao- cident, it was usual to supply as many as were deficient. This operation was called to imp a hawk. 's Like per /ipectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, Distin gu ish form,. Tills is an allusion to an optical toy, in which a figure is represented wherein all the rules of persj^ective are in- verted, so that if held in the same position with those pictures which are drawn according to the rales of per- spective, it presents nothing but confusion ; but looked upon from a contrary position, or " ey'd awry,'' it is ^eon in regular and due proportion, 719 NOTES TO KING RICHARD THE SECOND. " As, — {hough in (hinhi/ng, on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing fai/nt and shrink. The meaning is, though I have no distinct idea of calami- cj', yet some undefined sliadowy dread fills me with appre- hension. Every one has sometimes felt this invohintary ynd unaccountable depression of mind. '•"' The king had cut my head off with my 1»-other's. N6 brother of the Duke of York was beheaded ; he alludes to the fate of Gloucester, who, after a life spent in opposing and oppressing his nephew, was at length arrested and secretly murdered by his orders at Calais. The duke was smothered with a pillow, while in bed, and it was re- ported that he had died of apoplexy, but the circumstances all transpired in the next reign. 21 To take advantage of the absent time. That is, the time of the king's absence. ^^ And ostentation of despised arms. Warburton says the ostentation of despised arms would aot fright any one, and suggests that we should read dis- posed arms, i. e. forces in battle array. Dr. Johnson says, " perhaps the old duke means to treat him with contempt, as well as with severity, and to insinuate that he despises ais power, as being able to master it." But this cannot be, oecause York presently admits that his weakness alone pre- vents his opposing them. 23 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye. Indifferent does not here mean inattentive, but im- partial. ^ From my own windows torn my household coat. Tliat is, took out the coloured glass on which the arms of the family was displayed. 25 To fight with Glendower and his complices. Theobald thinks this line an interpolation, and for reasons which from their probability I will quote entire. " Were we to acknowledge the line to be genuine, it must argue the poet guilty of forgetfulness and inattention to history. Bolingbroke is, as it were, but just arrived ; he is now at Bristol, weak in his numbers ; has had no meeting witli a parliament ; nor is so far assured of the succession, as to think of going to suppress insurrections before he is planted on the throne. Besides, we find the opposition of Glen- dower begins the first part of King Henry IV., and Morti- nierV defeat by that hardy Welshman is the tidings of the fiist scene of that play. Again, though Glendower, in the very first year of IJenry IV. began to be troublesome, put in for the supremacy of Wales, and imprisoned Mortimer; yet it was not till the succeeding year that the king em- ployed any force against him." 2» The breath of worldly men cannot depose Tlie deputy elected by the Lord. TLe doctrine of the divine right of kings, and the pas- sive obedience of subjects, is here strongly laid down. The poet, however, puts this language in the mouth of a king. ^ Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew. The king's beadsmen were his priests ; but beadsman 7i40 might also mean any man maintained by charity to pray for his benefactor. The yew is, perhaps, called double- fatal because its leaves are poison, and the wood is used for instruments of death. S8 For taking so the head. To take the head, is to act without restraint; to take un- due liberties. 2' Her knots disorder d. The comparison is of the kingdom to a garden, and knots are figures planted in box, the lines of which fre- quently intersect each other. 0, I ampress''d to death. Through want of speaking. Nearly strangled by her emotions ; but the poet probably alludes to the ancient punishment called peine forte et dure, which was inflicted on those persons who, being arraigned, refused to plead, and remained obstinately silent. They were pressed to death by a heavy weight being laid upon the chest. 31 Westminster Hall. Westminster Hall was built by Richard, and the first meeting of parliament in it was for the purpose of de- posing him. 32 / take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle. This is an obscure line, which none of the editors satis- factorily explain. Dr. Jolmson says— "For th/< earth, I suppose we should read thy octh.^^ 33 As I intend to thrive in this new world. In this world which is new to me, in which I have just begun to be an actor. 3* Here do Ithroio down this. Holinshed says that on this occasion he threw down a hood that he had borrowed. '5 With my own tears 1 wash away my balm. That is, the oil of consecration. s" That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousana men. It does not appear that this enormous number of re- tainers absolutely lived under Eichard's roof, but the old chronicles say "that to his household came everyday, to meate, ten thousand men." He had three hundred domes- tics in his kitchen, and there is no doubt but that this prodigality was the source of much exaction, and a great cause of the discontent of the people. 3' To Julius Ocesar^s ill-erected tower. The Tower of London is traditionally said to be the work of Julius Csesar. Ill-erected moans erei-ted for evil purposes. 3* Sent back like Hall^wt?ias. All-hallows, or Allr-hallowtide, is the first of November. The meaning is, the queen came from France with the NOTES TO KING RICHARD THE SECOND. jladness of spring, but that she returned with the gloom of winter. 3' Better far off, than near, he ne'er the near. They may as well be far apart as near, but not permitted to enjoy each other's society. To be never the nigher is an expression common in the midland counties. *" With painted imagery, had said at once. It is difficult to understand how the painted imagery could have spoken ; but, perhaps, Shakespeare was thinking of the painted cloths, in which the figures sometimes had labels issuing from their mouths. <' What seal is that which hangs without thy bosom ? The seals of deeds were formerly impressed on slips or labels of parchment, appendent to them. ^2 But for our trusty brother-in-law. This was John Duke of Exeter and Earl of Huntingdon (own brother to Richard the Second), and who married Wj'^ the I^d; Elizabeth, sister of .Bolingbroke. n « Jlis Jack of the clock. The little figure on some clocks, which is made tc Btrike the hour. « Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. There has been much controversy respecting the death of Richard, but the following quotation from the manifesto which the Percy family published against Henry the Fourth, in the third year of his reign, is decisive. They charge him with having "carried his sovereign lord traitorously within the castell of Pomfret, without the consent or the judge- ment of the lords of the realm, by the space of fifteno dales and so many nightes (which is horrible among Chris- tian people to be heard), with hunger, thirst, and cold, to perish.'''' Had the story of Sir Pierce of Exton been true, the Percy family must have known it. Many of the old writers represent Richard as voluntarily abstaining from food, and dying of hunger and a broken heart. ♦5 Carlisle, this is your doom. The bishop was committed to the tower, but afterwards permitted to change his prison for Westminster Abbey. Ho was deprived of his see, and eventually retired to a reotorj in GloacesterBhire. 721 FIRST PART OF ling lenq tji? jFntirtji. . \- ■ J tlENRY asceuded the throne in 1399, and reigned for a period of fourteen years ; he died on the 20th of March, 1413, at the age of forty-seven. His usurpation had been successful, his prede- cessor had perished unpitied and in obscurity, he had attained the rank of king, had suppressed all insurrections, «nd triumphed over every enemy ; but when he had thus reached the summit of hi? ambition, and stood firm and unassailable upon the dazzling pinnacle of royalty, then, when evr.ry aspiration of his ambitious heart was gratified, his overtasked mind reacted upon hi3 naturally iror frame ; his early cheerfulness and attractive qualities forsook him, he became solitary in his hauits, suspicious and gloomy in his nature, his strength left him — he was prematurely old ; he becanie a bigot in religion, and persecuted heretics with extreme severity ; and finally, subject to epileptic fits and afflicted with a cutaneous disorder, which some have said to be leprosy, he sunk into the grave, not past the fulness of maturity, and scarcely regretted by his subjects ; a melancholy instance tiiat wealth and power too often fail to confer happiness upon their envied possessor. If the spirit of the broken-hearted and murdered Richard could have gazed upon the last hours of Henry in the Jeru- salem chamber, it might have rested satisfied and appeased. Sensible that a drama embracing only a series of intrigues and acts of tergiversation, of in- surrections and civil wars, and of struggles for supremacy between parties who are neither of them |_ entitled to much sympathy or respect, would possess little interest, Shakespeare has introduced into ' ; this play, and its companion one, the richest and most brilliant comedy that ever rose even in the ' cheerful chambers of his sunny son]. It is the first of those dramas which are, strictly speaking, t neither tragedy, comedy, nor history, but a happy mingling of all three ; a kind of drama peculiar t' to Shakespeare, and singularly adapted to his comprehensive and variable muse. The first part of Henry the Fourth commences with news of the victory of his troops under young Percy at Horaildon Hill, in the September of 1402, and concludes with the defeat of Ho*:spur at Shrewsbury, on the 21st of July, 1403, which latter event may be said to have placed Henry firmly in the regal chair. The time comprised in this play is therefore less than a yeaj . We should be inclined to view the struggles of Henry and Northumberland with indignation and disgust, were it not that their cold and crafty policy is redeemed by the graceful pt'ofligacy and generous courage of the Prince of Wales, and the blunt fiery nature of the noble but unfortunate Hotspur \ But the latter, though brave and chivalric, is too much the warrior; his manners are rough, self- |' willed, impetuous, and unconciliating. Haughty and ambitious to excess, he would break all things \ to his will ; he laughs at the small gentle courtesies and elegancies of life — for them he has no time. He is abrupt, if not unkind, to his wife, who is too gentle to need correction or reproof; impatient hnd defiant to Glendower ; for his behaviour to whom his uncle gently chides him, for — Defect of manners, want of government, Pride, haughtinesa, opinion, and disdain. But we forget his faults in his misfortunes ; he expiates all errors upon the blood-stained field of 728 i FIRST PART OF Shrewsbury. The Prin'ce is equally fearless, but more gentle ; we like him the bettei even for his dissipation; his gaiety and good-humour contrast well with the stern military habits of Hotspur. Sir Richard Vernon gives a spirited description of the Prince mounting his war-steed, and armed for the encounter : — 1 » >' KINl} HENRY IV 1^HT1./V0.1V ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE n. It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, A larger dare to our great enterprise, Than if the earl were here : for men must think, If we, without his help, can make a head To push against the kingdom ; with his help, We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. — Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. Ver, Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm : what more ? Ver. And further, I have learn'd, — The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily. With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son? The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daflPd the world aside, And bid it pass ? Ver. All fumish'd, all in arms, All plura'd like estridsfes that wing the wind ; Bated like eagles having lately bath'd ; Glittering in golden coats, like images ; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm*d, — Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; They come like sacrifices in their trim. And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war. All hot, and bleeding, will we ofier them: The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit. Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire. To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse. Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, 95 Against ihe bosom of the prince of Wales : Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 0, that Glendower were come ! Ver. There is more news : I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Doug. That 's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto ? Ver. To thirty thousand. Hot. Forty let it be ; My father and Glendower being both away. The powers of us may serve so great a day. Come, let us make a muster speedily : Doomsday is near ; die all, die merrily. Doug. Talk not of dying ; I am out of fear Of death, or death's hand, for this one half-year. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. — A public Road near Coventry. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; fill me a bottle of sack ; our soldiers shall march through ; we '11 to Sutton-Colfield to-night. Bard. Will you give me money, captain ? Fal. Lay out, lay out. Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it make twenty, take them all, T 'U answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain : farewell. \Exit. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the bans ; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver, woi-se than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild- duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out their ser- vices ; and now my whole charge consists of an cients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of com Danies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted 768 FIRST PART OF bUKNB m. cloth, wiiere the glutton's dogs licked his sores : and such as, indeed, were never soldiers ; but dis- carded unjust serving men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and a 'ong peace ; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient :^^ and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I '11 not march through Coventry with them, that 's flat : — Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on ; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There 's but a shirt and a half in all my company : and the half-shirt is two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat ivithout sleeves ; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Albans, or the red- nose innkeeper of Daintry.^'' But that 's all one ; they '11 find linen enough on every hedge. Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now? quilt ? Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? — My good lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; I thought, your honour had already been at Shrewsbury. West. 'Faith, sir John, 't is more than time that I were there, and you too ; but my powers are there already : The king, I can tell you, looks for us all ; we must away all night. Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream. P. TTen. I think, to steal cream indeed ; for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack ; Whose fellows are these that come after ? FaJ. Mine, Hal, mine. P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for powder, food for powder ; they '11 fill a pit, as well as better : tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare ; too beggarly. Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not wnere they had that : and for their bareness, — I am sure, they never learned that of me. ';r.4 P. Hen. No, I '11 be sworn ; unless you call three fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste ; Percy is already in the field. Fal. What, is the king encamped ? West. He is, sir John ; I fear, we shall stay too long. Fal Well, To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbur>'. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vekxox. Hot. We '11 fio-ht with him to-night Wor. It may not be. Doug. You give him then advantage. Ver. Not a whit. Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply ? Ver. So do we. Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to- night. Ver. Do not, my lord. Doug. You do not counsel well You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) If well-respected honour bid me on, I hold as little counsel with weak fear. As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives :- Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle. Which of us fears. Doug. Yea, or to-night. Ver. Content. Hot. To-night, say I. Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, being men of such great leading, That you foresee not what impediments Drag back our expedition : Certain horse Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come np : Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; And now their pride and mettle is asleep. Their courage with hard labour tame and dul , That not a horse is half the half himself. Hot. So are the hoi-ses of the enemy In general, journey-bated and brought low ; The better part of ours is full of rest. Wor. The number of the king exceedeth o irs : For God's sake, cousin, stay, till all come in. \Thc Trumpet sounds a pc 'ley. I ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENK If. Enter Sir Walter Blunt. BlurU. I come with gracious offers fi-om the king, If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt ; and 'would to God, You were of our determination ! Some of us love you well : and even those some Envy your great deserving, and good name ; Because you are not of our quality. But stand against us like an enemy. Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so. So long as, out of limit, and true rule. You stand against anointed majesty ! But, to my charge. — The king hath sent to know The nature of your griefs ; and whereupon You conjure from the breast of civil peace Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land Audacious cruelty : If that the king Have any way your good deserts forgot, — Which he confesseth to be manifold, — He bids you name your griefs ; and, with all speed, You shall have your desires, with interest ; And pardon absolute for yourself, and these. Herein misled by your suggestion. Hot. The king is kind ; and well we know, the king Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. My father, and my uncle, and myself, Did give him that same royalty he wears : And, — when he was not six-and-twenty strong, Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — Mv father gave him welcome to the shore : And, — when he heard him swear, and vow to God, He came but to be duke of Lancaster, To sue his livery," and beg his peace ; With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm, Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less came in with cap and knee ; Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, profFer'd him their oaths, Gave him their heirs ; as pages follow'd him, Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — Steps me a little higher than his vow Made to my father, while his blood was poor Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg, And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep Over his country's wrongs : and, by this face. This seeming brow of justice, did he win The hearts of all that he did angle for. Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads Of all the favourites, that the absent king In deputation left behind him here. When he was personal in the Irish war. Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. Hot. Then, to the point. In short time after, he depos'd the king ; Soon after that, deprived him of his life ; And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, There without ransom to lie forfeited : Disgrac'd me in my happy victories ; Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; Rated my uncle from the council-board ; In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong : And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out This head of safety ; and, \vithal to pry Into his title, the which we find Too indirect for long continuance. Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king* Hot. Not so, sir Walter : we'll withdraw awhile. Go to the king ; and let there be impawn'd Some surety for a safe return again, And in the morning early shall mine uncle Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love. Hot. And, may be, so we shall. Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do ! [^Exeunt. SCENE IV.— York. A Room in the Archbishop's House. Enter the Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman. Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ; bear this sealed! brief. With winged haste, to the lord marshal ; This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest To whom they are directed : if you knew How much they do import, you would make haste Gent. My good lord, 766 ACT V. FIRST PAKT OF SCEKB L guess their tenor. Arch. Like enough you do. To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must 'bide the touch : For, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The king, with mighty and quick-raised power. Meets with lord Harry : and I fear, sir Michael, — What with the sickness of Northumberland, (Whose power was in the first proportion,) And what with Owen Glendower's absence, thence, (Who with them was a rated sinew too. And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,) — I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the king. Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear; there 's Douglas, A.nd Mortimer. Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Hany Percy, And there 's my lord of Worcester : and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. Arch. And so there is : but yet the king hath drawn The special head of all the land together ; — The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt ; And many more cor-rivals, and dear men Of estimation and command in arms. Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 't is to fear ; And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed ; For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, — For he hath heard of our confederacy. And 't is but wisdom to make strong against him Therefore, make haste : I must go write again To other friends ; and so farewell, sir Michael. \Exeunt severally ACT V SCENE L- The King's Camp ntar Shrewsbury. FJnter Kino Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff. K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale At his distemperature. P. Hen. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretels a tempest, and a blustering day. K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympa- thize ; For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. How now, my lord of Worcester ? 't is not well. That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet : You have deceiv'd our trust ; And made us doff our easy robes of peace, to crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : This is not well, my lord, this is not well. What say you to 't? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war ? And move in that obedient orb again. Where you did give a fair and natural light ; And be no more an exhal'd meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times? Wor. Hear me, my liege : For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike. K. Hen. You have not sought for it ! how come:: it then ? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace.^^ Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks Of favour, from myself, and all our house ; And yet I must remember you, ray lord. We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you, my staff of office did I break In Richard's time : and posted day and night To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother, and his son. That brought you home, and boldly did outdare KTN-& JI£2^'m W- TAJl T l.ACTV.SC 2. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENX I. The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — And you did swear that oath at Don caster, — That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state; Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right. The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; And such a flood of greatness fell on you, — What with our help; what with the absent king; What with the injuries of a wanton time ; The seeming sufferances that you had borne ; And the contrarious winds, that held the king So long in his unlucky Irish wars. That all in England did repute him dead, — And, from this swarm of fair advantages. You took occasion to be quickly woo'd To gripe the general sway into your hand : Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; And, being fed by us, you us'd us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow : did oppress our nest : Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, That even our love durst not come near your sight, For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly Out of your sight, and raise this present head : Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; By unkind usage, dangerous countenance. And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have artic- ulated, Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches ; To face the garment of rebellion With some fine color, that may please the eye Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents. Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news Of hurlyburly innovation : And never yet did insurrection want Such water-colours, to impaint his cause; Nor moody beggars, starving for a time Of pellmell havoc and confusion. P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. The prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Henry Percy : By my hopes, — This present enterprise set oflf his head, — I do not think, a braver gentleman. More active-valiant, or more valiant-young. More daring, or more bold, is now alive. To grace this latter age with noble deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry ; And so, I hear, he doth account me too : Yet this before my father's majesty, I am content, that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation ; And will, to save the blood on either side. Try fortune with him in a single fight. K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we yen ture thee, Albeit, considerations infinite Do make against it : — No, good Worcester, no. We love our people well f even those we love, That are misled upon your cousin's part : And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man Shall be my friend again, and I '11 be his : So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do : — But if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So, be gone; We will not now be troubled with reply : We offer fair, take it advisedly. [^Exeunt Wor. and Vers P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life : The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms. K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge ; For, on their answer, will we set on them : And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! [^Exeunt King, Blunt, and P. John.] Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so ; 't is a point of friendship. P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. Fal. 'T is not due yet ; I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me ? Well, 't is no mat- ter : Honour pricks me on ? Yea, but how if hon- our prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it ? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not Hve with ACT V. FIRST PART OF SCENK n. the living ? No, Why ? Detraction will not suffer it : — therefore I '11 none of it : Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit. SCENE \l.—The Rebel Camp. Enter Worcester and Vernon. Wor. 0, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, The liberal kind offer of the king. Ver. 'T were best, he did. Wor. Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be, The king should keep his word in loving us ; He will suspect us still, and find a time To punish this offence in other faults : Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : For treason is but trusted like the fox ; Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up. Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks ; And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood ; And an adopted name of privilege, — A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : All his offences live upon my head, And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; And, his corruption being ta'en from us, We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, In any case, the offer of the king. Ver. Deliver what you will, I '11 say, 't is so. Here comes your cousin. Enter Hotspur and Douglas ; and OflSceis and Soldiers, behind. Hot. My uncle is return 'd : — Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland.^ — Uncle, what news ? Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. Hot. Lord Douglas, go you arid tell him so, Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly, [Exit. Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus, — By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 768 He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will .Loourge With haughty arms this hateful name in us. Re-enter Douglas, Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for 1 hare thrown A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it ; Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on, Wor. The prince of Walfes stepp'd forth before the king. And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. Hot. 0, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads ; And that no man might draw short breath to-da) But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me. How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly. Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man ; Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; Making you ever better than his praise. By still dispraising praise, valued with you : And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital of himself; And chid his truant youth with such a grace. As if he master'd there a double spirit. Of teaching, and of. learning, instantly. There did he pause : But let me tell the world, — If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe so sweet a hope. So much misconstrued in his wantonness. Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured Upon his follies ; never did I hear Of any prince, so wild, at liberty : — But, be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier'sarm. That he shall shrink under my courtesy, Arm, arm, with speed : And, fellows, soldiers, friends. Better consider what you have to do, Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with persuasion. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. Hot. I cannot read them now, — gentlemen, the time of life is short ; To spend that shortness basely, were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point. ACT V. KING HENRY THE F01:RT'[. SCENE 111. Still ending at the arrival of an hour. A.n if we live, we live to tread on kings ; If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just. Enter another Messenger. Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale. For I profess not talking : Only this — Let each man do his best : and here draw 1 A sword, whose temper I intend to stain With the best blood that I can meet withal In the adventure of this perilous day. Now, — Esperance ! — Percy ! — and set on. — Sound all the lofly instruments of war. And by that music let us all embrace : For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall A second time do such a courtesy. [^The Trum'pets sound. They embrace^ and exeunt. SCENE III. — Plain near Shrewsbury. Excursions^ and Parties fighting. Alarum to the Battle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Tliou Grossest me ? what honour dost thou seek Upon my head ? Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; And I do haunt thee in the battle thus. Because some tell me that thou art a king. Blunt. They tell thee true. Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry, This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee. Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur. Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holme- don thus, I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. Doug. All 's done, all 's won ; here breathless hes the kinar. Hot. Where? Doug. Here. Hot. This, Douglas ; no, I know this face full well: A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; Semblaby furnish'd like the king himself. Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither il goes! A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all hi? coats ; I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece. Until I meet the king. Hot. Up, and away ; Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff. Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London I fear the shot here ; here 's no scoring, but upon the pate.— Soft ! who art thou ? Sir Walter Blunt — there 's honour for you : Here 's no vanity !"' — I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead out of me ! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. — I have led my ragga- muffins where they are peppered : there 's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive ; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here ? Enter Prince Henry. P. Hen What, stand'st thou idle here? lena me thy sword : Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies. Whose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend thy sword. Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe awhile. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms,™ as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure. P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. • P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case ? Fal. Ay, Hal ; 't is hot, 't is hot ; there 's that will sack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. •759 FIRST PART OF SCENE rr. P. Hen. What, is 't a time to jest and dally jiow ? [Throws it at him, and exit. Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I '11 pierce him. U lie do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as sir Walter hath : Give me life : which if I can save, so ; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there 's an end. \Exit. SCENE IN.— Another Part of the Field. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, Barry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much : — Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up. Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. K. Hen. I will do so : — My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your help : And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive The prince of Wales from such a field as this ; Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, And rebels' arms triumph in massacres. P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin • Westmoreland, C)ur duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. \Exeunt P. John and West. P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster, I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; But now, I do respect thee as my soul. K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior. P. Hen. O, this boy Lends mettle to us all ! [Exit. Alarums. Enter Douglas. Doug. Another king 1 they grow like Hydra's heads : i am the Douglas, fatal to all those That wear those colours on them. — What art thou, 760 That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart. So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very king. I have two boys, Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field : But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, I will assay thee ; so defend thyself Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ; And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be, And thus I win thee. [They fight ; the King being in danger, enter Prince Henry. P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again ! the spirits Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ; Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. — [ They fight ; Doug . fiies. Cheerly, ray lord : How fares your grace ? — Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, And so hath Clifton ; I '11 to Clifton straight. K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while : — Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; And shovv'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life, In this fair rescue thou hast bi'ought to me. P. Hen. heaven ! they did me too much injury. That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. If it were so, I might have let alone The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; Which would have been as speedy in your end, As all the poisonous potions in the world, And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I '11 to sir Nicho- las Gawsey. [Exit K. Hen, Enter Hotspur. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- mouth. P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. Hot. My name is Harry Percy. P. Hen. Why, then I se« A very valiant rebel of the name. I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more : Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. ACT V. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 3CENB rr. Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come To end the one of us ; and 'would to God, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! P. Hen. I '11 make it greater, ere I part from thee" And all the buiding honours on thy crest I '11 crop, to make a garland for my head. Hot, I can no longer brook thy vanities. \They fight. Enter Falstaff. Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Douglas ; he fights ivith Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit Doug- las. Hotspur it wounded, and falls. Hot. 0, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth," I better brook the loss of brittle life. Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh : — But thought 's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; And time, that takes survey of all the world. Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, But that the earthy and cold hand of death Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust. And food for [Dies. P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy : Fare thee well, great heart ! — lU-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. If thou wert sensible of courtesy, I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — But let my favours hide thy mangled face ;" And, even in thy behalf, I '11 thank myself For doing these fair rites of tenderness. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — \He sees Fal. on the ground. What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! I could have better spared a better man. O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, If I were much in love with vanity. Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, Though many deai-er, in this bloody fray : — Embowell'd will I see thee by and by ; Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. Fal. [Rising slowly^ Embowelled ! if thou embowel me to-day, I '11 give you leave to powder me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 't was time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit ? I lie, I am no counterfeit : To die, is to be a c( un- terfeit ; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man : but to counter- feit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of hfe indeed. The better part of valour is — discretion ; in the which better part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should counter- feit too, and rise ? I am afraid, he would prove the better counterfeit. Therefoi-e I '11 make him sure : yea, and I '11 swear I killed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I ? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbing Am,] with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me. [Takes Hot. on his back. Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh'd Thy maiden sword. P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here ? Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead ? P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and bleeding Upon the ground. Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak: We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — Thou art not what thou seem'st. Fal. No, that 's certain ; I am not a double man : but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy : [Throwing the body down^ if your father will do me any honour, so ; f not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead. Fdl. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying ! — I grant you I was down, and out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrews- •761 AC! V. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCKKB V. bury clock. If I may be believed, so ; if not, let them, that should reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads. I '11 take it upon ray death, I ^ave him this wound in the thigh : if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him 3at a piece of my sword. P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. Come, bnng your luggage nobly on your back : For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I '11 gild it with the happiest terms T have. \^A retreat is sounded. The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. Come, brother, let 's to the highest of the field, To see what friends are living, who are dead. [^Exeunt P. Hen. and P. John. Fa,l. I 'II follow, as they say, for reward. He ihat rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great, I '11 grow less ; for I '11 purge, and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a noblem.an should do. [^E.vit, hearing off the Body. SCENE Y .—Another part of the Field. The Trumpets sound. 'Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John. Westmore- land, and Others, with Worcester and Ver- non, prisoners. K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke, — [Inspirited Woi'cester ! did we not send grace, Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? And would'st thou turn our ofi'ers contrary ? Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's ti'ust ? Throe knights upon our party slain to-day, A noble earl, and many a creature else, Had been alive this hour, If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne !3elwixt our armies true intelligence. Wot. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to ; And T embrace this fortune patiently. Since not to be avoided it falls on me. K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Ver- non too : Other offenders we will pause upon. — \Exeunt Wor. and Vern., guarded. How goes the field ? P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him. The noble Percy slain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest ; And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, That the pursuers took him. At ray tent The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace, I may dispose of him. K. Hen. With all my heart. P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster to you This honourable bounty shall belong: Go to the Douglas, and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free : His valour, shown upon our crests to-day. Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, Even in the bosom of our adversaries. K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our power. — You, son Jolm, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed, To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, ' To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway Meeting the check of such another day : And since this business so fair is done. Let us not leave till all our own be won. Exexint. NOTES TO Um HENRY THE FOURTH, (PART THE FIRST.) ^ — 1 Ac TTwre the tJdrsty entrails of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood. There has been much debate respecting this passage, some reading tlie thirsty Erinnys, meaning tlie fury of dis- cord. The poet appears to personify tlie earth, represent- ing it as a motlier, and its parched cracks, or furrows, as tlie lips by wliieh it drank the blood of its own children. - And many limits of the charge. That is, calculations, or estimates of the expense. « Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son To heaten Douglas. Shakespeare here represents the Earl of Fife as the eldest son of Douglas ; tins is an error. The account stands tlius in Holinshed — " and of prisoners, Mordacke earl of i'ife, son to tie gouvernour Archembald earle Douglas," &c. The want of a comma after governoar, makes these words appear to be the description of one and the same person, and in this sense Shakespeare understood them ; but by putting a stop after the word governor, it will be evident that the first prison'.r was Iilordake, who was the son of the governor of Scotland, and Douglas was the second. •• The prisoners. Percy had by the law of arms an exclusive right to these prisoners ; every soldier 'vho had taken any captive whose redemption did not exceed ten thousand crowns, had him for himself, either to free or ransom as he pleased. Though Percy could not keep the Earl of Fife, as being a prince oT royal blood, Henry might claim him by his acknowledged military prerogative. s Another room in the palace. There must be some error in this description of the scene. The Prince and Falstail' would scarcely carry on their revels in a room of the king's palace. Such a resort would not be safe for Falstaff, and the Prince is described as absent from the court. It is not the tavern in East- cheap, as Falataff appoints to meet tlie Prince there ; pos- ! Bibly it is the lodgings of the latter, or some tavern which i tney occasionally frequented. I " FlcOibus, — he, that wandering knight so fair. I Falstaflf starts the idea of Fhod/us, i. e., the sun ; but runs off to an allusion to El Lonzel del Feho, the knight of tlie sun in a Spanish romance, translated into English in the age of Shakespeare. Perhaps the words " that wandering knight so fair," are part of some forijottoii ballad on the adventures of this hero. ' Let not us that are squires of the nighVs body be called thieves of the day'^s beauty. Theobald would read — of the day's booty, and the mean- ing then would be : — Let us not be called thieveis, robbers of that which to its lawful owners was booty derivable by honest industry by day. Mr. Stecvens thinks no altera- tion necessary, but says — " 1 believe our poet, by the ex- pression, thieves of the day's beauty, meant only, let not us who are body squires to the night, i. e. adorn the night, be called a disgrace to the day. To take away the beauty oi the day, may probably mean, to disgrace it." / "* As the honey of Hyhla, rny old lad of the castle. It has been said that this passage countenances a tradi- tion that the ])art of Falstaff was originally written under the name of Oldcastle, — old lad of the castle seeming to refer to Oldcastle. The opinion that Falstaff was intended to ridicule Sir John Oldcastle is met and denied by the poet in the epilogue to the second part of Henry IV., wliere he says, " for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not tht man.''"' In an old play on the subject of Henry the Fifth, Sir John Oldcastle plays a similar part to that of Falstaii'', and appears to have suggested the latter character to Shakes- peare. Oldcastle was the companion and friend of Prince Henry in his youth ; but although he might have been a boon companion, he was a brave and conscientious man: he became tlie leader of an insurrection of the Lollards, and was hanged, and afterwards burned on the gibbet. His character, at the suggestion of his Catholic persecutors, was exposed to ridicule and infamy on the stage ; but it ia a libel on the humanity of Shakespeare to suppose him guilty of heaping scorn upon the grave of a brave and noble-minded man, who by a number of people was es- teemed a martyr. Dr. Farmer says, old lad of the castU is the same with old lad of Castile, a Castilian — probably a cant phrase of the day. / am as mdancholy as a gib cat. A gib cat is probably a gelded eat ; all animals so muti- lated are said to lose their spirit, and grow tamo and dtili. 763 NOTES TO THE FIRST PART OF > >o W7iat gayest t M^i to a hare, or the melanclioly of Moor-ditch. The flesh cf the hare was supposed to grenerate melan- choly in those who partook of it. In Webster's Vittoria Qjroinhona, 1612, we have the following allusion to the sup- posed dejection of this animal: — Like yoiir melancholy hare, Feed after midnight. Again, in Drayton's PolyoUiion, song the second — The melancholy hare is form'd in brakes and briars. In Stowe's Survey, i*; appears that a broad and stagnant ditch formerly parted the hospital from Moorfields. That it might well be called an " unsavoury" object for a simile may be gathered from News from JleU, brought by the DiveVs Carrier, 1606 : — "As touching the river, lookc how Moor-ditch shews when the water is three-quarters drayned out, and by reason the stomacke of it is over- laden, is ready to fall to casting. So does that ; it stinks almost worse, is almost as poysonous, altogether so muddy, altogether so black." '1 Thou earnest not of the blood royal {f thou darest not stand for ten shillings. Hero is a poor jest which time has obscured. The real or royal was of the value of ten shillings. Falstaff means the prince is not royal (or a royal) if he will not s^tand (pass) for ten shillings. " Faretoell, all-hallown summer. That is, thou cold or dead summer. All-TiaUows is .ill-halloivn tide, or All-Saints^ I^^Hi which is the first of November. 18 Sirrah. It has created surprise that Poins should use this ab- rupt term to the prince, but Mr. Malone tells us that in Shakespeare's time it was not invariably used as a term of disrespect. " Meet me to-morrow night. Shakespeare is frequently careless with respect to time ; we should read to-night, for the robbery was to be com- mitted at four o'clock the next morning. '* nis brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer. Percy was not the brother-in-law of Mortimer, the Earl of March ; it appears from Dugdale's and Sandford's ac- count of the Mortimer family, that there were two Ed- munds, each of whom was taken prisoner at different times by Glendower. Edmund the Earl of March, the Mortimer of this play, was nephew to Lady Percy ; the jther, Sir Edmund Mortimer, was uncle to the former, and brother to Lady Percy. " And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. An eye of death, says Dr. Johnson, is an eye menacing death ; the king is trembling with rage rather than with fear; for th.is the critic is taken to task by Mr. M. Mason, who thinks he had more reason to fear the man who had a better title to the crown than himself. It is evident that if Henry felt fear he was not the ma a to reveal it; he ■764 would have disguised it in anger ; while the tenor of Hio whole scene shows that it was anger and not fear that in- fluenced him. " Arid tJtat same sword-and-lucJcler Prince of Wales. The sword and buckler were weapons worn by servanta and by low fellows. Thus, in Florio's First Fruites, 1578 : — " What weapons bear they ? — Some sword and dagger, some sv/ord and buckler. — What weapon is that buckler? — A clownish, dastardly weapon, and not fit for a gentleman." '8 Cousin, fareweU. In Shakespeare's time, cousin was a common address to nephews, nieces, and grandchildren, and was, indeed, fre- quently applied to a relative of any kind. Hotspur was Worcester's nephew. '» Charles' wai/n. This is a vulgar name given to the constellation calloH the Bear. "» Out of all cess, i. e. out of all measure. 21 The bots, i. e. worms in the stomach of a horse. 22 Breeds fleas like a loach. A loach is a small fish, and exceedingly prolific. The carrier therefore means to saj-, that "your chamber-lie breeds fleas as fast as the .oach" breeds, — not fleas, but loaches. 25 Ithinls it be two o'' clock. It is evident that the carrier suspects Gadshill, and en- deavours to mi.^lead him as to the hour, because he has just said thas it vf&sfour o'clock. 2-' A franklin, i. e. a landed gentleman, ^'■> Saint Xicholas'' clerks. A cant name for thieves or highwaymen. St. Nicholas was the patron saint of scholars, who were therefore called St. Nicholas's clerks. Hence, by a quibble between Kicliolas and Old Nick, the name has has been extended to highwaymen. 2« Other Trojans. A TVojan appears to be a cant name for swindler or thief. 3' lam joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, six- penny strikers ; none of these mad, mustachio purple-hned malt-worm^. A foot land-raker v:tis a foot-pad or wandering thief; a sixpenny striker, a paltry, brutal depredator, who would commit assault and rol bery, even for the sake of si.xpence ; and IS, purple-hued, malt-worm, a red or purple- faced drunk- ard who got intoxicated upon ale. «» Burgomasters, and great oiieyers. Probably moneyers, monied men, or bankers. A moneyer is an otRcer of the m .nt who makes coin and delivers out the king's money. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. »» We have the receipt of fern-seed^ we walk invisible. The seed of the fern is contained in the back of the leaf, and is so small as to escape the sight ; but as the fern was propagated by semiaation, it was commonly supposed that it possessed an invisible seed, and at length, a prop- erty of communicating the power of invisibility was at- tributed to it 3" What a plague mean ^eto coU me thus ? That is, to fool or trick me ; but the prince, taking it in another sense, opposes it by uncoU, i. e. unhorse. " Enter Hotspur^ reading a letter. This letter was from George Dunbar, Earl of March, in Scotland. ^ Esperance. This was the motto of the Percy family. *3 Wilt thou roh this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, nott- pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter. The prince asks the drawer if he will rob his master, whom he denotes by the above contemptuous expressions. It is said that a leather jerkin with crystal buttons, was the dress of a pawnbroker, and probably, therefore, that of a tavern-keeper. A person was said to be nott-pated, when the hair was cut short and round. Kay says the word is still used in Essex for polled or shorn. Puke stock- ings, are supposed to be stockings of a russet-black, and of a coarse material, worn by persons of inferior condition us a matter of economy. Caddis was probably a kind of coarse ferret. In our poet's time the garters were worn in sight, and, consequently, were often very costly. Servants and others, who wore common ones, were sometimes called by the contemptuous name of caddis-garters. s* Why tJien your brown bastard. Bastard was a kind of sweet wine. " The prince," says Dr. Johnson, "finding the waiter not able, or not willing, to understand his instigation, puzzleb him with, uncon- nected prattle, and drives him away." 35 Rivo, says the drunkard. Hivo was a cant word among roysterers, probably mean- ing be merry. Thus Marston, — If thou art sad nt other's fate, Rivo drink deep, give care the mate. so Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter f pitiful- hearted Titan, that malted at the sweet tale of the son. This is a very obscure passage, and much controversy has been expended on it. The folio has sun ; but that reading has been rejected by most editors. Mr. Steevens Bays: — "Our author might have written pitiful-hearted Titan, who melted at the sweet tale of his son, i. e. of Phaeton, who by a plausible story, won on the easy nature of his father so lar, as to obtain from him the guidance of bis chariot for a day." Mr. Malone tells us, — " The prince, undoubtedly, by the words, ' Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter ?' alludes to Falstaff's entering iu a great heat, his fat dripping with the violence of his mo- tion, as butter does with the heat of th sun. Our author hero, as in many other places, having started an idea, leaves it, and goes to another that has but a very slight connexion with the former. Thus the idea of butter melted by Titan or the sun, suggests to him the idea of Titan's being melted or softened by the tale of his son Phaeton." 3^ / would I were a weaver ; I could sir,^ psalms or any thing. Weavers were long distinguished for their love of psal» mody and other music. In the persecution of the Protes- tants in Flanders, under Philip II., those who came over to England on that occasion brought with them the woollen manufactory. They were Calvinists, and much attaehea to sacred music. Falstaff wishes that he could be a weaver and sing like them, to divert his mind. 3* TaUow-keech. A keeoh of tallow is the fat of an ox rolled up in a round lump, in order to be sent to the melters. »» Away, you starveling, you elf-skin. Many of the commentators would read eel-skin, as being more applicable than elf-skin ; the skin of an imp or fairy bearing no resemblance to the prince, while a tall thin man may very fairly be humorously likened to a stuffed eel-skin. Shakespeare had historical authority for the leanness of the prince. Stowe says, "he exceeded the mean stature of men, his neck long, body slender and lean, and his bones small," &c. 40 Give him as much as will make him a royal man. The prince intends a pun upon the words noble and royal. The value of the noble was 6«. %d. ; that of the royal, 10«. " This," says Mr. Toilet, " seems to allude to a jest of Queen Elizabeth. Mr. John Blower, in a sermon before her ma- jesty, said, ' My royal queen ;' and a little after, ' My nobla queen.' Upon which the queen exclaimed : — ' What ! ara I ten groats worse than I was V " " A Welsh hook. An offensive instrument, pointed like a spear, to push or thrust with ; and which below had a hook to seize tha enemy if he should attempt to escape by flight. ••" Well, here is my leg. That is, my obeisance to my father. <3 Prove a micher, and eat blackberries. Kmicher is a truant; to mich is to lurk out of sight. The allusion is to a truant boy, who, unwilling to go to school, and afraid to go home, lurks in the fields, and picks wild fruit. "4 Hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a povlt«rU hare. Dr. Johnson thinks rabbit-sucker meant sucking rabbit; but it was more probably a weasel. Falstaff is comparing himself to something thin and little. A poulterer was formerly written a poulter. *^ Bolting-hutch, i. e. the wooden receptacle into which the meal is bolted. <• That roasted Manningtree ox. Manningtree, in Essex, was famous for the richness of 7Co NOTES TO THE FIRST PART OF Its siirr funding pastures. Fairs were held there, at which moralit.es and other entertainments were represented, and it appears to have been customary on these occasions to roast an ox entire. " MetMnks, my moiety, north from Burton here. They had, in anticipation of victory, divided the land into three portions, over which Mortimer, Glendower, and Hotspur were to rule. A maiety was frequently used in Shakespeare's time as a portion of anything: not divided into two parts. ■"' A brazen canstick turri'd. A canstu'h is merely an abbre /iation of candlestick, the latter word being too long for the line. Hc\"wood, and several of the old writers, constantly use the word canstick lu this sense. <9 7 HI haste the writer, i. e. the writer of the indentures just alluded to. ^ With telling me of tim mxmld-warp and tJoe ant. This alludes to an old prophecy which influenced Glen- dower in taking up arms against the king. Tlie mould- warp, it is said, was to be subdued by a wolf, a dragon, and a lion. The mouldwarp was interpreted to bo Henry, and the confederated nobles were the wolf, dragon, and lion. The mould-warp i,s the mole. *' You are too xvilful-llame. " This," says Dr. Johnson, " is a mode of speech with which I am not acquainted. Perhaps it might be read — too wilful blunt, or, too wilful bent ; or thus : — " Indeed, my lord, you are to blame, too wilful." »* Upon the wanton rushes lay you down. \\j was long the custom of our ancestors to strew their floors with rushes, as we now cover them with carpets. " '7' IS the next way to turn tailor, or be red-bread teacher. The next way, is the nearest way. Tailors seem to have been almost as remarkable for singing as weavers ; thus Beaumont and Fletcher . — " Never trust a tailor that does not sing at his work; his mind is on nothing but filch- ing." Hotspur implies that singing is a mean employment, and that those who practise it are on the road to turn tail- on or teachers of birds. ** Bagh bavin wits. Bavin is brushwood, which when lighted burns fiercely, but is soon out ; it was used in the poet's time for kindling fires. The king means thoughtless fiery talkers, reckless companions. '5 Carded hin state. A metaphor probably taken from t \q practice of ming- ling coarse wool with fine, and carding them togetiier, by which means the value of tlie latter is diminished. But Mr. Eitson says, that by carding his sfMe, the king means that Richard set his state to hazard, and played it away, as a man loses a fortune at (iards. »' Of every beardless vain comparative. That is, of every boy whose vanity incited him to try his mix. against the king. 7fi6 V " Lord Mortimer of So'-iland hath sent word. There was no Lord Mortimer of Scotland ; the person alluded to is the Lord March of Scotland. Shakespeare had a recollection that there was a Soi^tish lord on the side of Henry, who bore the same title witli the English family on the rebel side, (one being the Earl of March in England, and the other the Earl of March iii Scotland,) but his memory deceived him with respect to the name. He took it to be Mortiiaer, instead oi March. 68 IJoiu now. Dame Partlet the hen. t ' Dame Partlet is the name of the hen in the old story- book of Reynard the Fox, : and in Chaucer's tale of The Cock and the Fox, the favourite hen is called dame Pertelote. s° Ttiere '* no more faith in thee, than in a stewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn, fox. Steived prunes were sold in brothels, and were considered not only as a provocative, but also as a remedy against infection. Their practical want of success in this direc- tion, may have brought them into an ill name. Therefore Falstaff' says, "there 's no more, faith in thee than in s stewed prune." A drawn fox may be an embowelled fox, having the form without the life of one; or, as Mr. Heath observes, ^^ a fox draicn over tlie ground to leave ascent, and exercise the hounds, may bo said to have no trutli in it, because it deceives the hounds, who run with tjie same eagerness as if they were in pursuit of a real fox." "u And as for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. In the ancient songs of Robin Hood, frequent mention is made of Maid Marian, who appears to have been his concubine. She was a character introduced into the old English morris-dances, and usually personated by a man dressed as a woman. Mr. Douce, in his interesting re- marks on TJie Ancient English Morris Dance, says, — " Ftil- staff tells the hostess, that for womanhood Maid Marian may be tlie deputy's wife of the ward to her ; meaning perhaps, that she was as masculine in her appearance a^^ the country clown who personated Maid Marian ; and in Fletcher's Monsieur Thomas, Dorotliea desires her brother to conduct himself with more gentleness towards his mis- tress, unless he would choose to marry Malkyn the May lady.'''' "" A comfort of retirement, i. t. a support to which we may resort. "5 The quality and hair of our attempt. That is, the nature and complexion of it. I/air appears to have been sometimes used to denote character or man- ner. We still say something is against the hair, or against the grain, tlyit is, against the natural tendency. *3 Ten times more dishonourable rugged tlian an old-facea ancient. An old-faced ancient is an old standard patched to hide its dilapidations. To face a gown is to trim it. Shakes- peare, however, uses the word ancient to imply either a standard or a standard-bearer. "^ Daintry, i. e. Daventry. "> To sue his livery. " During the existence of the feudal tenures." says Mt, KmQ HENRY THE FOURTH. Malone, " on the death of any of the king's tenants, an inquest of office, called inquisitw post mortem, was held, to inquire of what lands he died seized, who was his heir, of what age he was, &c. ; and in those cases where the lieir was a minor, he became the ward of the crown ; the land was seized by its officers, and continued in its pos- Bossion, or that of the person to whom the crown granted it, till tlie heir came of age, and sued out his livei-y, or ovsterlemaine ; that is, the delivery of his land out of his guardian's hands." 88 Peace, chewet, peace. A cheivet, or chuet, is a noisy chattering bird ; a pie. Fal- staif's ill-timed jest deserves this rebuke. " No, good Worcester, no. We love our people well. There appears to be no reason for the introduction of inese negatives into this sentence. Mr. M. Mason judi- caously proposes that we should read — Know, good Wor- ces',er, hnmo, &c. "8 Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland. i lie was "impawned as a surety for the safe return" of Worcester. \ •» There '« honour for you ; here '» no vanity. \ Sl«ra i» no vain semblance of honour, but a rwvUty of it ; [ though Warburton thinks the negative is iised iTonicaJly and that Falstaff means, here is an excess of vanity, at excess through which Sir Walter has lost his life. '" Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms. Gregory the Seventh, called Hildebrand, a man who by his wonderful energy of character and recklessness of prin- ciple, raised hiuiself frcn the humble station of a carpenter of Tuscany to the rank of Pontiff. Fox has represented him in so odious a light, that he was probably popularly known in England as Turk Qregoi'y, thus uniting in hin..- self the attributes of the two great enemies of liberty, th? Turk and the Pope. " O, Harry, thou hast rdbVd me of my youth. Shakespeare has here violated historic truth for the saka of dramatic effect ; Hotspur did not fall by the hands cf the prince, but he was struck by an arrow from an un- known hand; the barb entered his brain, and the brave Percy fell dead upon the field. ''^ But let Tny favours hide thy mangled face. We must suppose that the prince covers the faoe of Ifia noble foe with his own scarf, to hide the ghastline»a of death. SECOND PART OF ling Ipnnj tjiP l^anrtlj. T^niS play occupies a period of about nine years : it commences immediately after the defeat of the rebels at Shrewsbury in 1403, and terminates with the death of Henry IV. and the coronation of )iis son Henry V. It takes up the history precisely where the first play left it, and, in the language of Dr. Johnson, the two parts will appear to every reader "to be so connected, that the second is merely a sequel to the first ; to be two only because they are too long to be one." The opening of this drama is remarkably fine ; the various rumours of the result of the battle at Shrewsbury, which reach the Earl of Northumberland in his " worm-eaten hold of ragged stone," at Warkworth ; his parental agony on learning the death of his brave son Hotspur, and the defeat of his party, are vigorously and touchingly drawn. Gibber has transferred several passages of this powerful scene to his hash of our poet's tragedy on the life of the third Richard. In Morton's speech, Shakpspeare reveals his knowledge of the necessary constituents of a successful revolution, the Arch- bishop of York having taken up arms, " turns insurrection to religion." Superstition has ever entered largely into the conduct of every successful national change. But notwithstanding this aid, we plainly foresee the defeat of Northumberland's party ; the want of capacity and unanimity in its leaders, and the evident hollowness of their professions, prove them much too weak for the great task they have undertaken. The insincerity of their pretensions was too glaring to deceive any except the most igno- .•ant ; they had all assisted in the deposition of King Richard, and let his death pass unquestioned ; yet they pretend to avenge his fate and to war against his murderer. Northumberland indeed had been the chief persecutor of the wretched King, and this pretended compassion for his fate is either rank hypocrisy or self-delusion. Time is the sure avenger of injustice, and the powerful noble who triumphed over the humiliated monarch is now bowed down to the earth by the man whom he him- self had placed in the regal chair. Falstaflf continues his vagaries, and is not a whit less amusing in this drama than in the first; his interview with the Lord Chiet Justice bubbles over with fun, sparkles with wit, and is unctuous with humour. Nothing can make the knight long serious ; life is with him one continued jest. His assumed deafness, and his assertion that he is young, are eminently characteristic. " The truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him." Very natural, too, is the description of age by the Jus- tice ; he sees through Falstaflf, has a just estimate of his abandoned character, and yet is softened by the conversational powers of the fat knight. The scene of the arrest of the latter at the suit of the hostess for a hundred marks, gives an excellent instance of his persuasiveness ; but like Milton's Belial— All was false and hollow ; though his tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason. He pacifies the enraged Mrs. Quickly, and induces her to pawn her plate and tapestries to add an- other loan to what he already owes her. He possesses the chief end of oratory in no mean degree, and never fails m winning the good graces of those whom he desires to please. The speech of the 97 769 hostess, in which she reminds Sir John of his promise to marry her, when he was sitting in her " Dolphin-chamber, at the round table by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Whitsuvi-week," delivered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I call hirr her dream. P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interprcta tion. — There it is, boy. [Gives him money, Poins. 0, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers ! — Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. Bard. And you do not make him be hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town ; there 's a letter for you. Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how doth the martlemas, your master ? Bard. In bodily health, sir. Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phy- sician : but that moves not him ; though that be sick, it dies not. P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog : and he holds his place ; for look you, how he writes. Poins. [Reads^ "John Falstaff, knight," Every man must know that, as oft as he has oc- casion to name himself Even like those that are kin to the king ; for they never prick their finger, but they say, " There is some of the king's blood spilt : How comes that ?" says he, that takes upon him not to conceive : the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap ; " I am the king's poor cousin, sir." P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But the letter : — Poins. " Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, greeting." — Why, this is a certificate. P. Hen. Peace ! Poins. " I will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity :" — he sure means brevity in breath ; short-winded. — " I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears, thou art to marry his sister Nell. Kepent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewell. "Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Falstafjt, with my familiars; John, with my brothers and sisters ; and sir John with all Europe." My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it. P. Hen. That 's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned ? must marry your sister ? 788 Acr II. SECOND PART OF SCENE m. Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! but I never said so. . P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the *',me ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us. — Is your master here in London ? Bard. Yes, my lord. P. Hen. Where sups he ? doth the old boar feed in the old frank ?" B'lrd. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. P. Hen. What company ? Page. Ephesians, my lord ;'' of the old church. P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? Pane. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- woman of my master's. P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper ! Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I '11 follow you. P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no word to your master, that I am yet come to town : There 's for your silence. Bard. I have no tongue, sir. Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it. P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Exeunt Bard, and Page,] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. Poins. T warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and Loudon. P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not our- selves be seen ? Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy dc- Bcension ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice ? a low transformation 1 that shall be mine : for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. \ Exeunt. SCENE IIL— Warkworth. Before the Castle. Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumber- land, and Lady Percy. North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter. Give even way unto my rough affairs : Pu; not you on the visage of the times, 184 And be, like them, to Percj troublesome. Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn ; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. Lady P. 0, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars ; The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endear'd to it than now : When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look, to see his father Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? There were two honours lost; yours, and your son'g. For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! For his, — it struck upon him, as the sun In the grey vault of heaven : and, by his light. Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait : And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish. Became the accents of the valiant ; For those that could speak low, and tardily. Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him : So that, in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book. That fashion'd others. And him, — wondrous him ! O miracle of men ! — him did you leave, (Second to none, unseconded by you,) To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage ; to abide a field, Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible : — so you left him : Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong. To hold your honour more precise and nice With others, than with him ; let them alone ; The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong : Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck. Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. North. Beshrew your hearfj Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go, and meet with danger there ; ACT II. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE IV. Or it will seek me in another place, And find me worse provided. Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles, and the armed commons. Have of their puissance made a little taste. Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king. Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. To make strength stronger ; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves : So did your son ; He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow ; And never shall have length of life enough, To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes. That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven. For recordation to my noble husband. North. Come, come, go in with me : 't is with my mind. As with the tide swell'd up unto its height. That makes a still-stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back : I will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap. Enter Two Drawers. \st Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? apple Johns? thou know'st, sir John can- not endure an apple-John. 2nd Draw. Mb-ss, thou sayest true : The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his hat, said, " I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights." It angered him to the heart ; but he hath forgot that. \st Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise f^ mistress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. Despatch : — The room where they sup- ped, is too hot ; they '11 come in straight. 2nd Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master Poins anon : and they will put on two of our jerkins, and aprons ; and sir John must not know of it : Bardolph hath brought word. \st Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis:^' It will be an excellent stratagem. 2«fl? Draw. I '11 see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. 99 Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. Host, r faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose : But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; and that 's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say, — What 's this ? How do you now ? Dol. Better than I was. Hem. Host. Why, that 's well said ; a good heart ''s worth gold. Look, here comes sir John. Enter Falstaff, singing. Fal. "When Arthur first in court" — Empty the Jordan. — "And was a worthy king:" [Exit Drawer.] How now, mistress Doll ? Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in a calm, they are sick. Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfoit you give me ? Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. Dol. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make theni ; I make them not. Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you. Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, ray pure virtue, grant that. Dol. A.J, marry ; our chains, and our jewels. Fal. " Your brooches, pearls, and owches ;" — for to serve bravely, is to come halting oflF, you know : To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged chambers bravely: Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself! Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you two never meet, but you fall to some discord : you are both, in good troth, as rheumatic** as two dry toasts : you cannot one bear with another's con- firmities. What the good-year ! one must bear, and that must be you : [To Doll.] you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead ? there 's a whole merchant's ven- ture of Bordeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I '11 be friends with thee. Jack : thou art going to the wars ; and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares. ACT II. SECOND PART OF SCENE IV. I I He-enter Drawer. Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol 's below and would speak with you. Dol, Hang him, swaggering rasca ! let him not come hither : it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue '.n England. Jlost. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, by my faith ; I must live amongst my neigh- bours ; I '11 no swaggerers : I am in good name and fame with the very best : — Shut the door : — there comes no swaggerers here : I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now : — shut the door, I pray you. J^al. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John ; there comes no swaggerers here. Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient. Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; your ancient svi^aggerer comes not in my doors. I was before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than Wednesday last, — " Neighbour Quickly," says he ; — master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — " Neighbour Quickly," says he, " receive those that are civil ; for," saith he, " you are in an ill name ;" — now he said so, I can tell whereupon ; " for," says he, " you are an honest woman, and well thought on ; therefore take heed what guests you receive : Receive," says he, " no swaggering companions." There comes none here; — you would bless you to hear what he said : — no, I '11 no swaggerers. Jf'al. He 's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheat- er, he ; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy- greyhound : he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of re- sistance. — Call him up, drawer. Host. Cheater, call you him ? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater : But I do not love swaggering; by my troth, I am the worse, when one says — swagger : feel, masters, how I shake ; look you, I warrant you. Dol. So you do, hostess. Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 't ivere an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. Pist. 'Save you, sir John ! Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I rh.irge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess. 186 Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two bullets. Eal. She is pistol-proof, sir ; you shall hardly offend her. Jlost. Come, I '11 drink no proofs, nor no bul- lets : I '11 drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy ; I. will charge you. Dol. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy compa- nion. What ! you poor, base, rascally, cheating lack-linen mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away I am meet for your master. Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy bung, away ! by this wine, I '11 thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you bas- ket-hilt stale juggler, you ! — Since Avhen, I pray you, sir ? — What, with two points on your shoul- der ? much !** Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. Fal. No more. Pistol ; I would not have you go off here : discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. ffost. No, good captain Pistol ; not here, sweet captain. Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned cheat- er, art thou not ashamed to be called — captain ? If captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you have earned them. You a captain, you slave ! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff' in a bawdy-house ? — He a captain ! Hang him, rogue ! He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain 1 these villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy ;^ which was an excellent good word before it was ill sorted : therefore captains had need look to it. Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. Pist. Not I : tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ; — I could tear her : — I '11 be revenged on her. Page. Pray thee, go down. Pist. 1 '11 see her damned first ; — to Pluto's damned lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! down, dogs ! down faitors ; Have we not Hiren here ?*' Host. Good captain Peesel, be ouiot ; it i** very late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your choler. ACT Ii. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE rv. Pist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall packhorses, And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, Compare with Caesare, and with Cannibals,^* And Trojan Greeks ? nay, rather damn them with King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. • Shall we fall foul for toys ? Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bit- ter words. Bard. Be gone, good ancient : this will grow to a brawl anon. Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins : Have we not Hiren here ? Host. 0' my word, captain, there 's none such here. What the good-year ! do you think, I would deny her ? for God's sake, be quiet. Pist. Then, feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis :" Come, give 's some sack. Sifortuna me tormenta, sperato me contenta. — Fear we broadsides ? no, let the fiend give fire : Give me some sack ; — and, sweetheart, lie thou there. [Laying doivn his sioord. Come we to full points here ; and are et cetera's nothing ? Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif -^ What ! we have seen the seven stars. Dol. Thrust him down stairs : I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Galloway nags ?"* Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- groat shilling : nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here. Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we imbrue? — [^Snatching up his sword. Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days ! Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos, I say ! Ffost. Here 's goodly stuff toward ! Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. Fal. Get you down stairs. [Drawing, and driving Pist. out. Host. Here 's a goodly tumult ! I '11 forswear keeping house, afore I '11 be in these ten-its and trights. So ; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas ! put up your naked weapons, put up yoar naked weapons. 1 Exeunt Pist. and Bard. Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet ; the rasca! is gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought> he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. Re-enter Bardolph. Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ? Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal 's drunk ; you have hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe thy face; — come on, you whoreson chops : — Ah, rogue ! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a blanket. Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou dost, I '11 canvass thee between a pair of sheets. Enter Music. Page. The music is come, sir. Fal. Let them play ; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver. Dol. V faith, and thou foUowedst him like a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven ? Enter behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised like Drawers. Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's head : do not bid me remember mine end. Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? Fal. A good shallow young fellow : he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well. Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit. Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet. Dol. Why does the prince love him so then ? Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness ; and he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and fennel ; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dra- gons ; and rides the wild mare with the boys ; and jumps upon joint-stools ; and swears with a good grace ; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto 187 Z±l ACT II. SECOND PART OF SCENE IV. I the sign of tlie leg ; and breeds no bate with tell- ing of discreet stories ; and such other gambol faculties he hath, that show a weak. mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him : for the prince himself is such another ; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoir- dupois. P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off? Poins. Let 's beat him before his whore. P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot. Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many years outlive performance ? Fal. Kiss me, Doll. P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in con- junction 1 what says the almanac to that ? Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping to his master's old tables ■,'" his note-book, his counsel-keeper. Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. Dol. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most con- stant heart. Fal. I am old, I am old. Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all. Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of ? I shall receive money on Thursday : thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come : it grows late, we 'II to bed. Thou 'It forget me, when I am gone. Dol. By my troth thou 'It set me a weeping, an thou sayest so : prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, hearken the end. Fal. Some sack, Francis. P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ? — And art not thou Poins his brother ? P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead ? Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer. P. Hen. Very true, sir ; and I come to draw you out by the ears. Host. 0, the Lord preserve thy good gi-ace ! by my troth, welcome to London. — Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine ! Jesu, are you come from Wales ? Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of ma- jesty, — by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon Dol. 188 Dol. How ! you fat fool, I scorn you. Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat. P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ? Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart ! and so she is, by my troth. Fal. Didst thou hear me ? P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill : you knew, I was at your back ; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. Fal, No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think, thou wast within hearing. P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse ; and then I know how to handle you. Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. P. Hen. Not ! to dispraise me ; and call me — pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse, Hal. Poins. No abuse ! Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him : — in which doing, I have done the part of a care- ful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal ; — none, Ned, none ; — no, boys, none. P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and en- tire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us ? Is she of the wicked ? Is thine hostess here of the wicked ? Or is the boy of the wicked ? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, ol the wicked ? Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable ; and his face is Lucifer's privy- kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt worms. For the boy, — there is a good angel about him ; but the devil outbids him too. P. Hen. For the women, Fal. For one of them, — she is -in hell already, and burns, poor soul ! For the other, — I owe her money ; and whether she be damned (or that, I know not. Host. No, I warrant you. Fal. No, I think thou art not ; I think, thou I ACT III. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCBNE I. art quit for that : Marry, there is another indict- ment upon thee, f^r suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law ; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl. Host. All victuallers do so : What 's a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent ? P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, Dol. What says your grace ? Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against. Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Francis. Enter Peto. P. Hen. Peto, how now ? what news ? Peto. The king your father is at Westminster ; And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, Come from the north : and, as I came along, I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame. So idly to profane the precious time ; When tempest of commotion, like the south Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. Give me my sword, and cloak : — Falstaff, good night. [Exeunt P. Hen., Poins, Peto, and Bard. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking heard.'] More knocking at the door ? Re-enter Bardolph. How now ? what 's the matter ? Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently ; a dozen captains stay at door for you. Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.] — Farewell, hostess ; — farewell, Doll. — You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches : If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. Dol. I cannot speak ; — If my heart be not ready to burst : — Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Fal. and Bard Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time ; bul an honester, and truer-hearted man. — Well, fare thee well. Bard. [ Within^ Mistress Tear-sheet, Host. What 's the matter ? Bard. [ Within^ Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master. Host. run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll. [Exmnt ACT III. SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry in his Nightgown., with a Page. K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick ; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters. And well consider of them : Make good speed. [Eocit Page. How many thousind of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep. Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, An see such a fellow. 708 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF SCENE ». Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. — God keep you, master Silence ; I will not use many words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen both : I thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. — Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper youi- affairs and send us peace ! As you return, visit my house ; let our old acquaintance be re- newed : peradventure, I will with you to the court. Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. Shal. Go to ; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you well. [IJxeunt Shal. and Sil. Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bardolph ; lead the men away. [^Exeunt Bar- dolph, Recruits, c&c] As I return, I will fetch off these justices : I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying ! This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wild- ness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull-street f* and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Clement's-inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring : when he was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon il with a knife : he was so forlorn, that his dimen- sions to any thick sight were invisible ; he was the very Genius of famine ; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the vs^hores called him — mandrake: he came ever in the rear- ward of the fashion ; and sung those tunes to the over-scutched huswives^* that he heai'd the carmen whistle, and .sware — they were his fancies, or his good-nights.** And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire ; and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him : and I '11 be sworn he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and then he burst his head, for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it ; and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own name : for you might have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin : the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court ; and now has he lands and beeves. Well ; I will be acquainted with him, if I return : and it shall go hard, but I will make him a philoso- pher's two stones to me : If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. \Fxit. ACT lY. SCENE I.— ^ Forest in Yo;kshire. Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and Others. Arch. What is this forest call'd ? Hast. 'T is Gualtree forest, an 't shall please your grace. Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send dis- coverers forth, To know the numbers of our enemies. Hast. We have sent forth already. Arth. 'T is well done. My friends, and brethren in these great affairs, I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd New-dated letters from Ncrthumberland ; Their cold intent, tenor and substance, thus : — Here doth he wish his person, with such powers As might hold sortance with his quality, ■ZM The which he could not levy ; whereupon He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers, That your attempts may overUve the hazard, And fearful meeting of their opposite. Mowh. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground. And dash themselves to pieces. Enter a Messenger. Hast. Now, what news ? Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form comes on the enemy : And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. Mowh. The just proportion that we gave thenj out. Let us sway on, and face them in the field. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCEKS I. Enter Westmoreland. Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. West. Health and fair greeting from our general, The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ; What duth concern your coming ? West. Then, my lord, Unto your grace do I in chief address The substance of ray speech. If that rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary ; I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd. In his true, native, and most proper shape, You, reverend father, and these noble lords. Had not been here, to dress the ugly form Of base and bloody insurrection With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, — Whose see is by a civil peace maintained ; Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch 'd ; Whose leai:ning and good letters peace hath tutor'd ; Whose white investments figure innocence. The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, — Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, Out of the speech of peace, tliat bears such grace, Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war ? Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, Your pens to lances ; and your tongue divine To a loud trumpet, and a point of war ? Arch. Wherefore do I this ? — so the question stands. Briefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd; And, with our surfeiting, and v.-anton hours. Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it : of which disease Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. But, my most noble lord oi' Westmoreland, I take not on me here a^- a physician ; Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, Troop in the throngs of military men : But, rather show a v. Siile like fearful war. To diet rank minds, sick of happiness ; And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer. And find our griefs heavier than our offences. We see which way the stream of time Aoth run, And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere By the rough torrent of occasion : And have the summary of all our griefs, When time shall serve, to show in articles ; Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, And might by no suit gain our audience : When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access unto his person, Even by those men that most have done us wrong. The dangers of the days but newly gone, (Whose memory is written on the earth With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples Of every minute's instance, (present now,) Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : Not to break peace, or any branch of it ; But to establish here a peace indeed, Concurring both in name and quality. West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ? Wherein have you been galled by the king ? What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you ? That you should seal this lawless bloody book Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine. And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? Arch. My brother, general ! the commonwealth, To brother born an household cruelty, I make my quarrel in particular. West. There is no need of any such redress ; Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us al , That feel the bruises of the days before ; And suffer the condition of these times To lay a heavy and unequal hand Upon our honours ? West. my good lord Mowbray, Construe the times to their necessities, And you shall say indeed, — it is the time, And not the king, that doth you injuries. Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, Either from the king, or in the present time, That you should have an inch of any ground To build a grief on : Were you not restor'd To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories. Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's ? Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my fathei lost, That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me ? The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him : And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he, — Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, Their neighing coursej'S daring of the spur, A 01 IT. SECOND PART OF SCENE 1 Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel. And the loud trumpet blowing them together ; Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, O, when the king did throw his warder down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw : Then threw he down himself; and all their lives, That, by indictment, and by dint of sword. Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not what : The earl of Heieford was reputed then In England the most valiant gentleman ; Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd ? But, if your father had been victor there. He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : For all the country, in a general voice. Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love, Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on. And bless 'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king. But this is mere digression from my purpose. — Here come I from our princely general, To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace, That he will give you audience : and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just, You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off, That might so much as think you enemies. Mowh. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer ; And it proceeds from policy, not love. West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so ; This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : For, lo ! within a ken, our army lies ; Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full of names than yours, Our men more perfect in the use of arms. Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : — Say you not then, our offer is compeU'd. Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. West. That argues but the shame of your offence : A rotten case abides no handling. Hast. Hath the prince John a full comi»ission. In very ample virtue of his father, To hear, and absolutely to determine 79« Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? West. That is intended in the general's name : I muse, you make so slight a question. Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this schedule ; For this contains our general grievances : — Each several article herein redress'd ; All members of our cause, both here and hence. That are insinew'd to this action. Acquitted by a true substantial form ; And present execution of our wills To us, and to our purposes, consign'd ; We come within our awful banks again. And knit our powers to the arm of peace. West. This will I show the general. I^lease you, lords. In sight of both our battles we may meet : And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! Or to the place of difference call the swords Which must decide it. Arch. My lord, we will do so. \Exit West. Mowh. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me. That no conditions of our peace can stand. Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace Upon such large terms, and so absolute. As our conditions shall consist upon. Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. Mowh. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. That every slight and fiilse-derived cause. Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason. Shall, to the king, taste of this action : That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love. We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff. And good from bad find no partition. Arch. No, no, my lord : Note this, — the king is weary Of dainty and such picking grievances : For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. And therefore will he wipe his tables clean ; And keep no tell-tale to his memory. That may repeat and history his loss To new remembrance : For full well he knows, He cannot so precisely weed this land. As his misdoubts present occasion : His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE 11. Sr that this land, like an oifensive wife, That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes ; As he is striking, holds his infant up, And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm That was uprear'd to execution. Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement : So that his power, like to a fangless lion, May offer, but not hold. Arch. .'T is very true : — And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal. If we do now make our atonement well. Our peace will, like a broken limb united. Grow stronger for the breaking. Mowb, Be it so. Hero is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. Re-enter Westmoreland. West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your lordship. To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies ? Mowh. Your grace of York, in God's name then set forward. Arch. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, we come. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Another Part of the Forest. Enter, from one side, Mowbrat, ^Ae Archbishop, Hastings, and Others : from the other side, Prince John op Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and Attendants. • F. John. Vou are well encounter 'd here, my cousin Mowbray : — Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; — And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — My lord of York, it better show'd with you. When that your flock, assembled by the bell. Encircled you, to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text : Than now to see you here an iron man, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum. Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man, that sits within a monarch's heart, And ripens in the sunshine of his favour. Would he abuse the countenance of the king. Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach. In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord bishop, £t is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken, How deep you were within the books of God ? To us, the speaker in his parliament ; To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself; The very opener, and intelligencer. Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven. And our dull workings : O, who shall believe, But you misuse the reverence of your place ; Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, As a false favourite doth his prince's name, In deeds dishonourable ? You have taken up, Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of his substitute, my father ; And, both against the peace of heaven and him, Have here up-swarra'd them. Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster I am not here against your father's peace : But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form, To hold our safety up. I sent your grace The parcels and particulars of our grief ; The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court. Whereon this Hydra son of war is born : Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep. With grant of our most just and right desires ; And true obedience of this madness cur'd. Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunea To the last man. JIast. And though we here fall down, We have supplies to second our attempt ; If they miscarry, theirs shall second them : And so, success of mischief shall be born ; And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, Whiles England shall have generation. F. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow, To sound the bottom of the after-t]rae.j. West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly. How far-forth you do like their articles ? F. John. I like them all, and do allow them, well : And swear here by the honour of my blood, My father's purposes have been mistook : And some about him have too lavishly Wrested his meaning, and authority. — My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, Discharge your powers unto their several counties, As we will ours : and hero, between the armies, '797 ICI IV. SECOND PART OF bUKNE III. Let 's drink together friendly, and embrace ; That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, Of our restored love, and amity. Arch. I take your princely word for these re- dresses. P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word : And thereupon I drink unto your grace. Hast. Go, captain, [To an OflBcer,] and deliver to the array This news of peace ; let them have pay, and part : I know, it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. [Exit Officer. Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmore- land. West. I pledge your grace : And, if you knew what pains I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace, You would drink freely ; but my love to you Shall show itself more openly hereafter. Arch. I do not doubt you. West. I am glad of it. — Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. Mowh. You wish me health in very happy season ; For I am, on the sudden, something ill. Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry ; But heaviness foreruns the good event. West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sorrow Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to- morrow. Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in. spirit. Mowh. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [Shouts within. P. John. The word of peace is render'd : Hark, how they shout ! Mowh. This had been cheerful, after victory. Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ; For then both parties nobly are subdued. And neither party loser. P. John. Go, my lord, And let our army be discharged too. — • [Exit West. And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains March by us ; that we may peruse the men We should have cop'd withal. Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, And, ere they be disniiss'd, let them march by. [Exit Hast. P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together. — 71>8 Re-enter Westmoreland. Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? West. The leaders, having charge from you tc stand. Will not go off until they hear you speak P. John. They kijow their duties. Re-enter Hastings. Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already : Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place. West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings ; for the which I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : — And you, lord Archbishop, — and you, lord Mow- bray, Of capital treason I attach you both. Mowh. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? West. Is your assembly so ? Arch. Will you thus break your faith ? P. John. I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redress of these same grievances. Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most christian care. But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray ; Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. — Some guard these traitors to the block of death ; Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Exeunt. SCENE ITi.— Another Part of the Forest. Alarums : Excursions, Enter Falstaff and CoLEViLE, meeting. Fal. What 's your name, sir ? of what condition are you ; and of what place, I pray ? Cole. I am a knight, sir : and my name is — Colevile of the dale. Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name ; a knight is your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile shall still be your name ; a traitor your degree ; and the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough ; so shall you still be Colevile of the dale. Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? ! ! I ACT lY. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. scENB nx. Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you ? If I do sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death : therefore rouse up fear and trem- bling, and do observance to my mercy. Cole. I think, you are sir John FalstafF; and, in that thought, yield me. Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. — Here comes our general. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmore- land, and Others. P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now ; — Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. — [Exit West. Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When every thing is ended, then you come : These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. One time or other break some gallows' back. Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus ; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought ? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine-score and odd posts : and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and valorous enemy : But what of that ? he saw me, and yielded ; that 1 may justly say with the hook- nosed fellow of Rome,^ 1 came, saw, and over- came. F. John. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield him : and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot : To the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two-pences to me ; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full nr.oon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins' heads to her ; believe not the word of the noble : Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. P. John. Thine 's too heavy to mount. Fal. Let it shine then. P. John. Thine 's too thick to shine. Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. P. John. Is thy name Colevile ? Cole. It is, my lord. P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. Fal. And a famous true subject took him. Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, That led me hither : had they been rul'd by me, You should have won them dearer than you have. Fal. I know not how they sold themselves:^ but thou, hke a kind fellow, gavest thyself away, and I thank thee for thee. \ Re-enter Westmoreland. P. John. Now, have you left pursuit ? Went. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, To York, to present execution : — Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure [Exeunt some with Cole. And now despatch we toward the court, my lords ; I hear, the king my father is sore sick : Our news shall go before us to his majesty. Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him. And we with sober speed will follow you. Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire : and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report. P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff; I, in my con- dition, Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. Fal. I would, you had but the wit ; 't were bet- ter than your dukedom. — Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man cannot make him laugh : — but that 's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There 's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness ; and then, when they mai-ry, they get wenches : they are generally fools and cow- ards ; — which some of us should • be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two- fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which environ it : makes it apprehensive, 199 AOT IV. SECOND PART OF SCENE IV. quick, forgetive," full of nimble, fiery, and delect- able shapes ; which deliver'd o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, — the warming of the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the in- wards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face ; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm : and then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart ; who, great, and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage ; and this valour comes of sher- ris : So that skill in the weapon is nothing, with- out sack ; for that sets it a- work : and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil ;*' till sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant : for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris ; that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them, should be, — to forswear thin pota- tions, and addict themselves to sack. Enter Bardolph. How now, Bardolph ? Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. Fal. Let them go. I '11 through Glostershire ; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, es- quire : I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — Westminster. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Hum- phrey, Warwick, and Others. K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give suc- cessful end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors. We will our youth lead on to higher fields. And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is address'd, our power collected. Our substitutes in absence well invested, And every thing lies level to our wish : Only, we want a little personal strength ; And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, 800 Come underneath the yoke of government. War. Both which, we doubt not but 7om majesty Shall soon enjoy, K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Glo&ter, Where is the prince your brother ? P. Humph. I think, he 's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. K. Hen. And how accompanied ? P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clar- ence, with him ? P. Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in pres- ence here. Cla. What would my lord and father ? K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas o. Clarence. How chance, thou art not with the prince th) brother ? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas Thou hast a better place in his affection. Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy ; And noble oflSces thou may'st effect Of mediation, after I am dead. Between his greatness and thy other brethren :-- Therefore, omit him not ; blunt not his love: Nor loose the good advantage of his grace. By seeming cold, or careless of his will. For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity : Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint ; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : Chide him for faults, and do it reverently. When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth ; But, being moody, give him line and scope ; Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothei-s in ; That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion, (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas ? Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. ACT IV. KING HENRY'THE FOURTH. SCENE XV K. Hen. And how accompanied ? can'st thou tell that ? Cla. With Poins, and other his continual fol- lowers. K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, In forms imaginary, the unguided days, And rotten times, that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrohg riot hath no curb. When rage and hot blood are his counsellors. When means and lavish manners meet together, 0, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite : The prince but studies his companions, • Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the lan- guage, 'T is needful, that the most immodest word }3e look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd. Your highness knows, comes to no further use, But to bo known, and hated. So, like gross terms. The prince will, in the perfectness of time. Cast off his followers : and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live. By which his grace must mete the lives of others ; Turning past evils to advantages. K. Hen. 'T is seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion. — Who 's here ? Westmore- land ? Enter Westmoreland. West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happi- ness Added to that that I am to deliver ! Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all. Are brought to the correction of your law ; There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd. But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne. Here at more leisure may your highness read ; With every course, in his particular. K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day Look ! here 's more news. 101 Enter Harcoukt. Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; And, when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of ! The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolpli, With a great power of English, and of Scots, Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : The manner and true order of the fight. This packet, please it you, contains at large. K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make me sick ? Will fortune never come with both hands full. But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? She either gives a stomach, and no food, — Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich. That have abundance, and enjoy it not. I should rejoice now at this happy news ; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: — O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. \^Swo(jfns. P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! Cla. my royal father West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up ! War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these fits Are with his highness very ordinary. Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs ; The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in,*' So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. P. Humph. The people fear me ; for they do observe Unfather'd heirs," and loathly birds of nature : The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be tween : And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, Say, it did so, a little time before That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. War. Speak lower, princes, for the king re- covers. P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be nis end. K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear nse hence 801 ACT IV. SJiCOND if^RT OF SCENE IV. Into some other chamber : softly, 'pray. [They convey the King into an inner part of the Room^ and place him on a Bed. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit. War. Call for the music in the other room. K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. War. Less noise, less noise. Enter Prince Henry. P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ? Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. P. Hen. How now I rain within doors, and none abroad ! How doth the king ? P. Humph. Exceeding ill. P. Hen- Heard he the good news yet ? Tell it him. P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. P. Hen. If he be sick With joy, he will recover without physic. War. Not so much noise, my lords : — sweet prince, speak low ; The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. War. Will 't please your grace to 2;o along with us ? P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king. \Exeunt all hut P. Henry. Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. Being so troublesome a bedfellow ? O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now ! Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, As he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound. Snores out the watch of night. majesty ! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather, which stirs not : Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. — My gracious lord ! my father ! — This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep. That from this golden rigo"" hath divorc'd So many English kings. Thy due, from rae, is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, S02 Shall, dear father, pay thee plenteously : My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — \^Putting it on his head. Which heaven shall guard : and put the worid'd whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me : This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 't is left to me. [Bxit. K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence ! Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. Cla. Doth the king call ? War. What would your majesty ? How fares your grace ? IT. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords ? Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my • liege. Who undertook to sit and watch by you. IC. Hen. The prince of Wales ? Where is he ? let me see him : He is not here. War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. JT. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from my pillow ? War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. IC. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go, seek him out. Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose My sleep my death ? Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. [Exit War. This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you are How quickly nature falls into revolt, When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care. Their bones with industry ; For this they have engrossed and pil'd up The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts, and martial exercises : When, like the bee, tolling from every flower The virtuous sweets ; ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE IT- Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths \vith honey, We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, Are uiurder'd for our pains. This bitter taste Yield his engrossments to the ending father. — Re-enter Warwick. Now, where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me ? Wai: My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow. That tyranny, which never quafFd but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown ? Re-enter Prince Henry. Lo,where he comes. — Come hither to rae, Harry : — Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. [JExeunt Clar., P. Humph., Lords, <&c. P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair. That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours Before thy hour be ripe ? foolish youth I Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind. That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours. Were thine without offence ; and, at my death, Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not. And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts ; Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear. That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew riiy hearse, Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : Only compound me with forgotten dust ; Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; For now a time is come to mock at form. Harry the Fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity ! Down, royal state I all you sage counsellors, hence ! And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness ! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum ; Have you a ruffian, that Avill swear, drink, dance. Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? Be happy, he will trouble you no more : England shall double gild his treble guilt ; England shall give him office, honour, might . For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the Wild dog Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! P. Hen. 0, pardon me, my liege ! but for mj tears, [Kneeling The moist impediments unto my speech, 1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke. Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown ; And He that wears the crown immortally, Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more. Than as your honour, and as your renown. Let me no more from this obedience rise, (Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! Heaven witness with me, when I here came in. And found no course of breath within your majesty, How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 0, let me in my present wildness die ; And never live to show the incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed ! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) I spake unto the crown, as having sense. And thus upbraided it : " The care on thee de- pending. Hath fed upon the body of my father ; Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in med'cine potable:^* But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown 'd, Hast eat thy bearer up." Thus, my most royaJ liege. Accusing it, I put it on my head ; To try with it, — as with an enemy, 80S ACT IV. SECOND PART 0¥ SCENE IV. That had before my face murder'd my father, — The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did, with the least affection of a welcome, Give entertainment to the might of it, Let God for ever keep it from ray head ! And make me as the poorest vassal is. That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! K. Hen. my son ! Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence. That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. Come hither, Harry, sit thou. by my bed; And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, I met this crown ; and I myself know well, How troublesome it sat upon my head : To thee it shall descend witli better quiet. Better opinion, better confirmation ; For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand ; And I had many living, to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances ; Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears. Thou see'st, with peril I have answered : For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument ; and now my death Changes the mode : for what in rae was purchas'd. Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends. Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, 80dr And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displac'd : which to avoid, I cut some oflf ; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land ; Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Bo it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out. May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so. That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! P. Hen. My gracious liege. You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; Then plain, and right, must my possession be: Which I, with more than with a common pain, 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, Lords, and Others. K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father ! K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son John ; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare, wither'd trunk : upon thy sight, My worldly business makes a period. Where is my lord of Warwick ? P. Hen. My lord of W^arwick ! K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? War. 'T is call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my lifo must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem ; Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land ; — But, bear me to that chamber ; there I '11 lie ; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. \Exeuni I ACT V. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENK f ACT V. SCENE I. — Glostershire. A Hall in Shaixow's House. Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolpk, and Page. Shal. By cock and pye,*'' sir, jou shall not away to-night. What, Davy, I say ! Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shal- low. Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be excused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused. — Why, Davy ! Enter Davy. Davy. Here, sir. Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy ; let me see : — yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused. Davy. Marry, sir, thus : — those precepts cannot be served ;** and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the headland with wheat ? Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for Wil- liam cook ; Are there no young pigeons ? Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note, for shoeing, and plough-irons. Shal. Let it be cast, and paid : — sir John, you shall not be excused. Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had : — And, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley fair ? Shal. He shall answer it : Some pigeons, Davy ; a couple of short-legged hens ; a joint of mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir ? Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well : A friend i' the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy ; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite. Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir ; for they have marvellous foul linen. Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy busi- ness, Davy. Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against that Visor ; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir : but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years ; and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little credit with your wor- ship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir ; there- fore, I beseech your worship, let him be counte- nanced. Shal. Go to ; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Whare are you, sir John ? Come, off with your boots. — Give me your hand, master Bard ol ph. Bard. I am glad to see your worship. Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master Bardolph : — and welcome, my tall fellow [To the Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shal. Fal. I '11 follow you, good master Robert Shal- low. Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeurit Bard and Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four dozen of such bearded hermit's- staves as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his : They, by observing him, do bear them- selves like foolish justices ; he, by conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like serving-man ; their spirits are so married in conjunction with the participation of society, that they flock to- gether in consent, like so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master Shallow, I would humour his men, with the imputation of being near their master : if to his men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no man could better command his servants. It is certain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caught, as men take dis- eases, one of another : therefore, let mefl take heed of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince Harry in con tinual laughter, the wearing-out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums. 0, it is much, that 806 SECOND PART OF SCBNS H a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders ! 0, you shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up. Shal [Within:] Sir John ! Fal. I come, master Shallow ; I come, master Shallow. [Exit Fal. SCENE II. — Westminster. A Room in the Palace. Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Justice. War.^ How now, my lord chief justice ? whither away? Ch. Just. How doth the king ? War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended. Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. War. He 's w.ilk'd the way of nature ; And, to our purposes, he lives no more. Ch. Just. I would, his majesty had call'd me with him : The service that I truly did his life, Ilath left me open to all injuries. War. Indeed, I think, the young king loves you not. Ch. Just. I know, he doth not ; and do arm myself. To welcome the condition of the time ; Which cannot look more hideously upon me Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Cla- rence, Westmoreland, and Others. War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry : O, that the living Harry had the temper Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! How many nobles then should hold their places, That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! Ch. Just. Alas ! I fear, all will be overturn'd. P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. P. Humph., Cla. Good morrow, cousin. P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. War. We do remember ; but our argument Is all too heavy to admit much talk. P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy 1 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! P. Humph. 0, good my lord, you have lost a friend, indeed : And I dare swear, you borrow not that face Of seeming sorrow ; it is, sure, your own. M6 P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find. You stand in coldest expectation : I am the sorrier ; 'would, 't were otherwise. Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Fal- staflf fair ; Which swims against your stream of quality. Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour, Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; And never shall you see, that I will beg A ragged and forestall'd remission. — If truth and upright innocency fail me, I '11 to the king my master that is dead. And tell him who hath sent me after him. War. Here comes the prince. Enter King Henry V. Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save yc ui majesty 1 King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Sits not so easy on me as you think. — Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear : This is the English, not the Turkish court ; Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, But Harry, Harry : Yet be sad, good brothers. For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you ; Sorrow so royally in you appears. That I will deeply put the fashion on, And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad : But entertain no more of it, good brothers, Than a joint burden laid upon us all. For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, I '11 be your father and your brother too ; Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares. Yet weep, that Harry 's dead ; and so will I : But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, By number, into hours of happiness. P. John, <&c. We hope no other from your ma- jesty. King. You all look strangely on me : — and you most : \To the Ch. Just. You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. King. No! How might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me ? What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy ! May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? ACT V. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE IIL Ch. Just. I then did nse the person of your father ; The image of his power lay then in me : And, in the administration of his law, Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, Your highness pleased to forget my place. The majesty and power of law and justice. The image of the king whom I presented, And struck me in my very seat of judgment; Whereon, as an offender to your father, I gave bold way to my authority, And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the garland, To have a son set your decrees at nought ; To pluck down justice from^your awful bench ; To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person : Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings in a second body. Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; Be now the father, and propose a son : Hear your own dignity so much profan'd. See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a son disdained ; And then imagine me taking your part. And, in your powei, soft silencing your son : After this cold considerance, sentence me ; And, as you are a king, speak in your state, — What I have done, that misbecame my place, My person, or my liege's sovereignty. King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well ; Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword : And I do wish your honours may increase. Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak ray father's words ; — " Happy am I, that have a man so bold. That dares do justice on my proper son : And not less happy, having such a son, That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice." — You did commit me : For which, I do' commit into your hand The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear ; With this remembrance, — That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; You shall be as a father to my youth : Mv voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practis'd, wise directions. And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; — My father is gone wild into his grave, For in his tomb lie my affections ; And with his spirit sadly I survive, To mock the expectation of the world; To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now : Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea; Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Now call we our high court of parliament: And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel. That the great body of our state may go In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us ; In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.— [To the Ch. Just Our coronation done, we will accite. As I before remember'd, all our state : And (God consigning to my good intents,) No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,— Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt SCENE IIL— Glostershire. The Garden of Shallow's House. Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolpii, the Page, and Davy. Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own grafting, with a dish of carraways, and so forth ; — come, cousin Silence ; and then to bed. Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwell- ing, and a rich. Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beg- gars all, sir John : — marry, good air. — Spread, Davy ; spread, Davy : well said, Davy. Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is your serving-man, and your husbandman. Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper : A good varlet. Now sit down, now sit down : — come, cousin. Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing And praise heaven for the merry year; When flesh is cheap and females dear, And lusty lads roam here and there, So merrily. And ever among so merrily. ACT r. SECOND PART OF SCENE 111 Fal. There 's a merry heart ! — Good master Silence, I 'II give you a health for that anon, Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; [^Seating Bard, and the Page at another table.] I '11 be with you anon : — most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master page, sit : proface I''- What you want in meat, we '11 have in drink. But you must bear : The heart 's all. l^£xit. Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph ; — and my little soldier there, be merry. Sll. Be merry, be merry, my wife 's as all ;*" \^oinff. For women are shrews, both short and tall : 'T is merry in liall, when beards wag all, And welcome merry shrove-tide, Be merry, be merry, &c. J^al. I did not think, master Silence had been a man of this mettle. Sil. Who I? I have been merry twice and once, ere now. Re-enter Davy. Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats for you. [Setting them before Bard. Shal. Davy, — Davy. Your worship ? — I '11 be with you straight. [Zb Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir ? Sil- A cup of wine, that 's brisk and flne, \ Singing. And drini^ unto the leman mine ; And a merry heart lives long-a. Fal. Well said, master Silence. Sil. And we shall be merry ; — now comes in the sweet of the night. Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; I '11 pledge you a mile to the bottom. Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome : If thou wan test any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — Welcome, my little tiny thief; [To the Page.] and welcome, indeed, too. — I '11 drink to master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — Shal. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart to- gether. Ha ! will you not, master Bardolph ? Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. Shal. I thank thee : — The knavo will stick by tnee, I can assure thee that : he will not out ; he Is true bred. Bard. And I '11 stick by Itim, sir. .Shfd Why, there spoke a king. Lack noth- ing : be merry. [Knocking heard.] Look who 's at door there : Ho ! who knocks ? [Fxit Davy. Fal. Why, now you have done me right. [To SiL., who drinks a bumper. Sil. Do me right, [Singing. And dub me knight : Samingo. Is 't not so ? Fal. 'T is so. Sil. Is 't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do somewhat. Re-enter Davy Davy. An it please your worship, there 's one Pistol come from the court with news. Fal. From the court, let him come in.~- Enter Pistol. How now. Pistol ? Pist. God save you, sir John 1 Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol ? Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm. Sil. By 'r lady, I think 'a be ; but goodinan Puff of Barson. Pist. Puff? Puff in th)'^ teeth, most recreant coward base ! — Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend. And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys. And golden times, and happy news of price. Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world. Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldings base ! I speak of Africa, and golden joys. Fal. base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. Sil. And Kobin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? And shall good nev/s be baflSed ? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. Pist. Why then, lament therefore. Shal. Give me pardon, sir ; — If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority Pist. Under which king, Bez( nian ? speak or die. Shal. Under king Harry. ACT V. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCENE IV- V. Fist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ? Shal. Harry the fourth. Pist. A foutra for thine ofiice ! — Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; Harry the fifth 's the man. I speak the truth : When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like The bragging Spaniard. Fal. What ! is the old king dead ? Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak, are just. Fal. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master Robert Shallow, choose what ofiice thou wilt in the land, 't is thine.-:— Pistol, I will double- charge thee with dignities. Bard. joyful day! — I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. Pist. What ? I do bring good news ? Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's steward. Get on thy boots ; we '11 ride all night: — O, sweet Pistol: — Away, Bar- dolph. [^Exit Bard.] — Come, Pistol, utter more to me ; and, withal, devise something, to do thyself good. — Boot, boot, master Shallow ; I know, the young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ; the laws of England are at my command- ment. Happy are they which have been my friends; and woe to my lord chief justice ! Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also ! " Where is the life that late I led," say they : Why, here it is : Welcome these pleasant days. [^Exeunt. SCENE IV.— London. A Street. Enter Beadles, dragc/ing in Hostess Quickly, and Doll Tear-sheet. Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might die, that I might have thee hanged : thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. 1st Bead. The constables have delivered her over to me ; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her: There hath been a man or two lately killed about her. DgI. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on ; I '11 tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal ; an the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain. Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come ! he would make Ais a bloody day to somebody. But I j)ray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! \st Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again ; you have but eleven now.*' Come, I charge you both go with me ; for the man is dead, that you and Pistol beat among you. Dol. I '11 tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer ! I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue-bottle rogue ! you filthy famished correctioner ! if you be not swinged, I '11 forswear half-kirtles. \st Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. Host. 0, that right should thus overcome might ! Well ; of sufferance comes ease. Dol. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a justice. Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. Dol. Goodman death ! goodman bones ! Host. Thou atomy thou ! Dol. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! \st Bead. Very well. [^Exeunt. SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster Abbey. Enter Two Grooms, strewing Rushes. 1st Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 2nd Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 1st Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from the coronation: Despatch, despatch. \Exeunt Grooms. Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and the Page. FaZ. Stand here by me, master Robert Shal- low ; I will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the countenance that he will give me. Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. — 0, if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I bor- rowed of you. [To Shal,] But 't is no matter; this poor show doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. Shal. It doth so. Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. Shal. It doth so. Fal. My devotion. Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. Fal. As it were, to ride day and night : ana not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to shift me. 809 ACT V. SECOND jeAKT OF SCENE v. Shal. It is most certain. I'al. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- ing with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ; putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were nothing else to be done, but to see him. Pist. 'T is semper idem, for absque hoc nihil tst ; 'T is all in every part. Shal. 'T is so, indeed. Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, And make thee rage. Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts. Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; Haul'd thither By most mechanical and dirty hand : — Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell A lecto's snake. For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. Fal. I will deliver her. \^Shouts within, and the Trumpets sound. Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justice among them. Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame ! Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 't is you speak ? Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my heart 1 King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ; But, being awake, I do despise my dream. Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace : Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape For thee thrice wider than for other men : — Reply not to me with a fool-born jest ; Presume not, that I am the thing I was : For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive, That I have turn'd away my former self; So will I those that kept me company. When thou dost hear I am as I have been, Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast, The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 810 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — Not to come near our person by ten mile. For competence of life, I will allow you ; That lack of means enforce you not to evil : And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, We will,— according to your strength, and quali- ties, — Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord. To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — Set on. \Fxeunt King, and his Train. Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you to let me have home with me. Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in pri- vate to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet, that shall make you great. Shal. I cannot perceive how ; unless you give me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hun- dred of my thousand. Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that you heard, was but a colour. Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. Fal. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph : — I Shall be sent for soon at night. Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, OflS- cers, <&c. Ch, Just. Go, carry sir John FalstafF to tho Fleet : Take all his company along with him. Fal. My lord, my lord, Ch. Just. I cannot now speak ; I will hear you soon. Take them away. Pist. Sifortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. [Exeunt Fal., Shal., Pist., Bard., Page and Officers. P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's: He hath intent, his wonted followers Shall all be very well provided for ; But all are banish 'd, till their conversations Appear more wise and modest to the world. Ch. Just. And so they are. P. John. The king hath call 'd his parliament, my lord. * Ch. Just. He hath. ACT V. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. SCBNB T. /'. John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year expire, We bear our civil swords, and native fire, As far as France ; I heard a bird so sing, Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. Come, will you hence ? [Exeunt EPILOGUE.— (Spoken by a Dancer.) First, my fear ; then, my court'sy : last, my speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my court'sy, my duty ; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for a good speech now, you undo me : for what I have to say, is of my own making ; and what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture. — Be it known to you, (as it is very well,) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it, and to promise you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with this ; which, if, like an ill venture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditoi-s, lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here I com- mit my body to your mercies : bate me some, and I will pay you some, and, as most debtors do, pro- mise you infinitely. If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs ? and yet that were but light payment, — to dance outof your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satis- faction, and so will I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven me ; if the gentlemen Avill not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly. One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will continue the story, with sir John in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine of France: where, for any thing I know, Falstaff" shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man.'* My tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I will bid you good night : and so kneei down before you ; — but, indeed, to pray for the queen." 811 J^OTES TO nm HENRY THE EOURTfl. (PART THE SECOND.) « And TtolcTst it/ear or gin. Fear is used as danger. You hold it dangerous or sinful k) tell me at once of the death of my son. « a Bend'' ring faint quittance. Quittance is return ; giving a faint return of the blows of his adversary. 8 ' Oan vail his stomach. To lose heart : to let his spirits sink under the pressure of calamity. * Whnt sayi the doctor to my water t An allusion to the method of ascertaining diseases by an mspection of the urine of the patient ; a custom in fashion long after the time of Shakespeare. 6 / never was manned with an agate till now. An agate appears to liave been an expression to signify anything diminutive, though I cannot say for what reason. See note 67 to Mach Ado About Nothing. Falstaff's mean- ing is, 1 never had so small an attendant before. He may heep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it. Mr. Steevens tells us — " Perhaps this quibbling allusion is to the English real, rial, or royal. The poet seems to mean that a barber can no more earn sixpence by his/oce- roijal, than by the face stamped on the coin called a royal; vhe one requiring as little shaving as the other." ' To bear a gentleman in hand. To bear in hand is to keep in expectation. • I bought him, in PauVs. St. Paul's was at that time the common resort of unem- ployed, idle, or dissolute people. It possessed a great ad- vantage for this class of people, as it partook so far of the lature of a sanctuary that no debtor could be arrested leithin its precincts. In an old Collection of Proverbs there IS the following: — ""Who goes to Westminster for a wife, to St. Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a horse, may m<^\ with a whore, a knave, and a jade." 812 » And yet, in some respects, /grant, /cannot go, I cannot tell. That is, in some respects I cannot pass current, am oo jected to, and unappreciated. lo You are too impatient to bear crosses. The justice appears to be quibbling here ; there is a coin called a cross. Falstaff had asked for the loan of a tliou- sand pounds, and the reply indicates that he is too impetu- ous to bear reverses, or, in its pecuniary sense, to be trusted with money. " /f /do,fiUip nw with a three-man beetle. To fillip is to strike a smart sudden blow ; a three-man beetle is a kind of huge mallet, with three handles, which was used in driving piles. " To dinner at the Ztibbar^s head. A colloquial corruption of the Libbard's head, or more probably of the Lombard's head. 1' thou honey-suckle villain ! wilt thou hill God''s o^iccrs, and the Icing'' s ? thou honey-seed rogue ! /loney-suckle and honey-seed are Mrs. Quickly's corrup- tions of Iwmicidal and liomicide. " Sn-eap, i. e. a reprimand, a check. 15 Answer in the effect of your reputation. That is, answer in a manner becoming your reputation and position in society. " Those that bawl out the ruvna of thy Unen. An elliptical phrase, implying — those that bawl out o/'the ruins of thy linen; i. e. thy illegitimate children wrapt up in thy old shirts. " He called me even now, my lord, thrmigh a red lattice. Red lattice at the doors and windows were formerly th« signs of an ale-house. Hence tlie present chequers. Bar- dolph had called tl e page from an ale-house window. NOTES TO THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 18 Frank, i. e. a sty. " EpTiesiana, my lord. An Ephesian was a cant term which Dr. Johnson thinks may have meant toper. Might it not signify the same aa Corinthian? i. e. a frequenter of brothels. The Pago might have heard the associates of Falstaff called Ephe- sians, and have repeated the word without understanding its meaning. 2» See if thou canst find out Sneak'' s noise. Sneak was a street musician, and the drawer requests his companion to go out and listen if he can hear him in the neighbourhood. A company of musicians was anciently called a noise of musicians. « By the mass, here will be old utis. Utia or utas, is an old word, which Pope says was still iu use in some counties in his time, signifying a merry festival. Thus, in A Contention between Liberality and Prodigality, a comedy, 1602 : — Then if you please, with some roysting harmony. Let us begin the utas of our ioUitie. »2 Tou are both in good truth as rheumatic. Possibly Mrs. Quickly means splenetic, though Mr. Stee- vens contends that rheumatic, in the cant language of the time, signified capricious, humorsome. =3 WJuit, with two points on your shoulder ? much ! The two points on his shoulder were a mark of his com- mission ; Doll means that she would not associate with one of his humble grade. Much was a common expression of contempt at that period, implying, is it likely ? '* These villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy. Occupant seems to have been a term for a woman of the town, as occupier was for a wencher. Thus, in Marston's Satires, 1599 :— • He with his occupant Are cling'd so close, like dew-worms in the morne, That he '11 not stir. This word is used with diiferent senses in the foUov/ing jest from Wits, Fits, and Fancies, 1614: — "One threw stones at an yll-favor'd old woman's owle, and the old woman said : Faith (sir knave) you are well occupy'^d, to throw stones at my poore owle, that doth you no harme. Yea marie (answered the wag) so would you be better occupy^d too (I wisse) if you were young again and had a better face." ^^ Have we not Hiren here ? The language of Pistol appears to be made up of allu- sions to, and passages from many plays which were then, doubtless, familiar to the play-goer, but are now chiefly either lost or forgotten. The line above is probably a q-iotat.'on from Peele's play, which has now perished, called Ths Turkish Mahomet, and Hyren the fair Greek. Mr. Toilet observes, that in Adam's Spiritual Navigator, &c., 1615, there is the following passage : " There be sirens in the sea of the world. Syrens ? Hirens, as they are now called. What a number of these syrens, hirens 30cka trices, courteghiana, — in plain English, harlots, — swirame amongst us ?" 28 Compare with Ccesa^'s and tvith Cannibals. Pistol used Cannibals as a blunder for Ilannibals. The preceding lines arc a burlesque quotation from Marlow's play of Tamerlanu'' s Conquests ; or the Scythian Shepherds ^ Feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis. This is a burlesque on a line in an old play, entitled The Battel of Alcazar, &c., in which Muley Mahomet enters to his wife with lion's flesh on his sword, and exclaims : — Feed then, and faint not, my faire Calypolis. 28 Hei/, i. e. fist. 2' Know we not Galloway nags. Common hacks. Pistol means, I know you for com- mon hacks ; you have not strength or courage to execute your threat. 3" And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping to his master'' s old tables. Trigonum igneum, is the astronomical term when the upper planets meet in a fiery sign. Wavburton would read, clasping to his master's old tables ; i. e. kissing Fal- staflf's cast off mistress. But lisping may be right ; Bar- dolph was probably drunk, and miglit lisp a little in his courtship. The old table-book was a counsel-keeper, 9 preserver of secrets, and so also was Mrs. Quickly. 31 Glendower is dead. Glendower did not die until after Henry the Fourth , but the date and place of his death have not been correctly ascertained. It is traditionally stated that he was buried in the Cathedral of Bangor, where a grave, under the great window in the south aisle wall, is still pointed out as the place of his interment. S2 By the rood, i. e. the image of Christ on the cross 33 Bona-robas, i. e. ladies of pleasur<». 3* I saw hvm break Skogan^s head. In Ben Jonson's masque. The Fortunate Isles, is the fol- lowing account of this Skogan : — - Scogan ? what was he ? Oh, a fine gentleman, and a master of arts Of Henry tfie Fourths times, that made disguises For tlie king's sous, and writ in ballad royal Daintily well. • SIS Clapped V the clout, i. e. hit the wliite mark. 3» A caliver, A caliver was smaller and lighter than a musket. Sir John means, that although Wart, as a feeble undersized man, is unfit for a musketeer, yet, armed with a lightei weapon, he may do good service. 813 ^ I was tJien Sir Dagonet in Arthur's sTww. It is doubted whether Shakespeare means the justice to say that he performed the part of Sir Dagonet, the fool, in the interlude o? King Arthur ; or whether he repre- sented Sir Dagonet in a show of archery which was given, not at Clement's Inn, but at Mile-End Green. A society of archers calling themselves Arthur''s Knights, existed In Shakespeare's time, who used to give exhibitions of archery, and Master Shallow might have been a mem- ber, and tlie representative of Sir Dagonet. Mr. Douce Bays, — " We see, therefore, that Shakespeare, having loth these shows in his recollection, has made Shallow, a talka- tive simpleton, refer to them indistinctly, and that probably by design, and with a due attention to the nature of his character." 38 And the feats he hath done about Turnhull-street. Tui'nlmll-street was notorious for houses of ill-fame. Nash, in Fierce FenniUsse, his Supplication, &c., com- mends the sisters of Turnbull-street to the patronage of the Devil. And in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady : — " Here has been such a hurry, such a din, such dismal drinking, swearing, &c., we have all lived in a per- petual Turnbull-street.'''' s« Over-scutched huswives. Dr. Johnson thinks that over-scutched means dirty or grimed. That Shallow visited mean houses, and boasted his accomplishments to dirty women. Eay, however, among his north-country words, says that over-scutched housewife means a strumpet. «> They were his fancies, or his good-nights. Fancies and good-nights were the titles of little poems, songs, or epigrams. *» Makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive Apprehensive, is quick of understanding ; forge-tive, a word made ivom. forge ; to devise ; inventive, imaginative. « A mere lioard of gold kept by a devil. Falstaff alludes to an ancient superstition, that all mines of gold and jewels were guarded by evil spirits. In a book by Edward Fenton, entitled, Certaine Secrete Wonders of Nature, &c., 1569 : — " There appeare at this daymany strange visions and wicked spirites in the metal- mines of the Greate Turke." — " In the mine at Anne- burg was a niettal sprite which killed twelve workmen ; the same causing the rest to forsake the myne, albeit it was very riche." ■•5 Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in. Mure is the wall ; the agitation of his mind had wrought or worn out the head that contained it. Tlio same thought irt more clearly expresued in Daniel's Covil Wars, &c.. Book IV.— As that the walls worn thin, permit the mind To look out thorow, and his frailtie find. *< The people fear me ; for tliey do observe Unfather'^d heirs, d;c. TiO fear me is ised for make me afraid. I fear the peo- 814 pie, for they observe unfathered heirs, i. e. equivocal births, productions not brought forth according to th« known laws of nature. It was thought that great changes or disasters in a kingdom were usually preceded by prodi- gies and unnatural events. *^ Golden rigol, i. e. golden circle. <^ Freserving life in mecT cine potable. An opinion anciently prevailed that the incorruptibility of gold might be communicated to the body impregnated with it. *"> By cock andpye. Cock is a corruption of the sacred name ; thus in the old interludes we have cock''s-bones, cock^s-wounds, cocWs-lody, cocFs-passion, by cock''s-mother, &c. The pie is a table or rule in the old Koman oflSces, showing how to find out the service which is to be read upon each day. *8 Those precepts cannot be served. A precept is a justice's warrant. *» Froface, i. e. Italian from profaceio ; much good may it do you. *» Be merry, be merry, my wife 's as all. That is, as all women are, she is a shrew like the rest of them ; according to this not very gallant ballad. ^^ If it do you sluill have a dozen of cushions again ; you ha ve but eleven now. The beadle means that Doll had taken one of the cush- ions to stuff out her figure, that she might counterfeit pregnancy. 82 For Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man. I have already alluded in note 8, first part of Henry IV., to the opinion entertained by some critics that Falstaff was originally called Oldcastle. " Shakespeare, I think," says Mr. Malone, " meant only to say, that ' Falstaff may per- haps die of his debaucheries in France,' (having mentioned Falstaff's death, he then, with his usual licence, uses the word in a metaphorical sense, adding,) 'unless he be al- ready killed by the hard and unjust opinions of those who imagined that tlie knight's character (like his predecessor in the old play) was intended as a ridicule on Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham. This our author dis- claims, reminding the audience that there can be no ground for such a supposition. I call them (says he) hai-d and unjust opinions, ' for Sir John Oldcastle was no debauchee, but a protestant martyr, and our Falstaff is not the man /' i. e. is no representation of him, has no allusion whatever to him." s5 FwUl bid you good night ; and so kneel dmvn before you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen. It was anciently a custom for the actors at the end of the performance to pray for their patrons, and most of the old interludes terminate with a prayer for the king, queen house of commons, &c. ling Ipnni t|f /iftjj. TN the construction of this play Shakespeare appears to have felt himself more than usually confined and fettered by the smallness of the theatres, and the rude state of dramatic art in his age. Par- ticipating largely in the affection borne by the English nation to the memory of Henry the Fifth, the poet deeply regretted the poor and bare nature of that medium through which his drama was to be made known to his countrymen. Although it does not rank among his best and most powerful plays, he has evidently bestowed great care upon it ; he was desirous that the memory of his favourite king should be gilded by the brightest coruscations of his genius, and be embalmed in the glorious robes of imperishable poetry. Anxious to do every justice to the subject, Shakespeare, contrary to his usual custom, has adopted a Chorus to prepare the minds of the spectators, to solicit indulgence for unavoidable imperfections in representation, and to explain what is supposed to pass between the acts of the drama. Of this innovation on the established usage of the English drama, Dr. Johnson has said, " The lines given to the Chorus have many admirers ; but the truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much must be foi'given ; nor can it be easily discovered why the intelligence given by the Chorus is more necessary in this play than in many others where it is omitted." If we were to transpose Johnson's judgment on the beauty of the speeches given to the Chorus, and say, in them much must be praised and a little forgiven, we should be nearer the truth. Some explanatory matter spoken occasionally between the acts, would doubtless be an improvement to most of Shakespeare's historical plays, as it would remove that fragmentary appearance which some of them possess, and render them more valuable as mediums of historical instruction. To the reader fresh from the perusal of actual history, the incidents in our poet's plays appear crushed and jambed together, and to follow one another with a supernatural rapidity, like the line of visionary kings the witches exhibited to Macbeth. A little explanation between the acts or scenes would remove this, and the necessary links of connexion would be restored. But because the poet has not given us in- formation when it has been necessary elsewhere, that furnishes no reason for his omission of it here. This play being chiefly the record of a single battle, a subject in itself more epic than dramatic, Shakespeare employed the former style to convey by description that which could not be condensed into representation. This play would be absolutely unintelligible, without the accompaniment of a descriptive Chorus. For instance, two years elapse between the fourth and fifth acts, that is, between Henry's retura to England after the victory at Agincourt, and his second expedition to France; still, the fourth act terminates in France, and the fifth commences there, which would give rise to error and confusion, if the Chorus did not play " the interim, by remembering you — 't is past." It is not an uncommon event, even in the present day, for authors to attach to their dramas an introductory preface reciting what is supposed to have occurred before the commencement of the action. Dr. Johnson, though he was an acute critic, and, notwithstanding his occasional ill-temper with our poet, generally an appreciative one, has much underrated these speeches of the Chorus. They are interesting, vigorous, and poetical ; the first eight lines of the introduction grand and pict- aresque, the comparison '>f " warlike Harry," prepared for conquest, to Mars, with Famine, Sword. 81S and Fire, leashed in like hounds, and crouching at his feet for employment, is a very martial and spiritrstirring metaphor ; a blast on war's brazen trumpet, admirably calculated to prepare the mind for the chivalric display about to be presented. The poet has carefully elaborated the character of Henry ; he introduces him into three dramas, carries him uncontaminated through scenes of riot and dissipation, represents him repenting his lost hours with tears of shame and affection, at the feet of his father, and, on his accession to the " golden rigol,'' after winning the good graces of prelates, nobility, and people, t-.nd passing undaunted through a fearful ordeal, such as would have overwhelmed niany a stout heart, leaves him on a summit of military glory more brilliant than had been achieved even by his bravo and illustrious ancestors, riie fine description by the Archbishop of Canterbury of the King's reformation, and the sudden blaze of those virtues and accomplishments which he was not suspected to have possessed, has been aptly applied to Shakespeare himself. Like Henry, the wildness of his youth promised not the brilliau+ performances of his manhood. With the poet, as with the prince — Consideration like an angel came, And wliipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. The introductory dialogue between the two bishops, independent of its exquisite beauty, easily and naturally prepares us for the change of the frolicsome idle prince to the serious and majestic king. Tlie mirthful and early pranks of Henry are not forgotten in this play ; his acceptance of the glove of the soldier as a challenge, and bestowal of it upon Fluellen, show that his sportive disposition is not extinguished, but tempered by rank and responsibility of station. Still he turns moralist in his. extremity, and exclaims to his brother — There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out. Henry's claim upon France was politic but ungenerous, for that unhappy country was distracted by internal broils, possessed a lunatic for a king, and was laid waste by the furious contentions of its own nobles. So far from his having any title to the crown of France, his right to the sovereignty of his own country would not bear examination ; and it was to evade inquiry, and that his nobility might not have leisure to conspire against him in England, that he led them to war against France ; and the archbishop encourages and justifies the design, that Henry may not pry too closely into the vast possessions of the church. Such are the secret springs of war and conquest. In this play we hear the last of FalstafF; his death is related by Mrs. Quickly. We cannot help feeling sad for the poor old knight, dying in an inn, surrounded only by rude dependents, and the faithful hostess, whom we respect for her kind attachment to him to the last. No wife or child is near ; no gentle kindred hand to do kind oflBces in the hour of weakness and despondency. In his half- delirious moments his last joke was made upon the flea on Bardolph's nose, which he said *' was a black soul burning in hell-fire." The scene between the Welsh, Irish, and Scotch captains,, each speaking in his peculiar paifow, is very humorous, but these three do not amount to one FalstafF. The episode between Pistol and the French soldier, whom, by his fierce looks, he frightens into paying a good ransom for his life, is much richer ; but the crown of mirth in this play is where the Welshman cudgels Pistol, and makes him eat his leek for having mocked him respecting it. All .the group that surrounded Falstafi" are here disposed of; Bardolph and Nym are hanged, the boy is killed by the flying French soldiers after the battle, Mrs. Quickly dies in the hospital, and Pistol sneaks home to disgrace and obscurity. Although there is tragic matter enough in this play, it ends like a comedy — with a marriage of convenience. Henry espoused the princess Katharine, on the 2nd of June, 1418, in the church of St. John, at Troyes. The next day, after he had given a splendid banquet, it was proposed by the French that the event should be honoured by a series of tournaments and public rejoicings. This Henry would not sanction. " I pray," said he to the French monarch, " my lord the king to permit, SI A KIKG HENRY THE FIFTH. ar.ct T ct)niinand /lis servants and mine to be all ready to-morrow morning to go and lay siege to Sens, wnerem are our enemies : there every man may have jousting and tourneying enough, and may give proof of his prowess ; for there is no Jiner prowess than that of doing justice on the wicked^ in order that tlie poor people may breathe and live^'' In the exhibition of fcJiis courage, activity, and feeling for the lovrer orders, lay the secret of Henry's popularity. He lived four years aftpr 'na marnp^f*, a period which Shakespeare has left unrecorded ; but the death of this heroic king was a scene for the poet. Still only in his thirty-fourth year, a conqueror in the full blaze of military glory, a king beloved by his people almost to idolatry, the husband of a young, beautiful, aui. accomplished wife, and the father of an infant son, this world was to him a derai-paradise, an earthly Eden; still be breathed his last without one complaint, and was himself calm and resigned, though all around wept as they promised to protect his wife and child. The solemn pomp displayed at his funeral was extraordinary ; no such procession had hitherto attended the remains of any English king. His funeral car was preceded and flanked by a crowd of heralds, banner-bearers, and priests clothed in white and carrying lighted torches, and it was followed by some hundreds of knights and esquires in black armour and plumes, with their lances reversed in token of mourning ; while, far in the rear, travelled the young widow, with a gorgeous and numerous retinue. She, however, does not appear to have been inconsolable, for she was married again shortly after Henry's death, to a Welsh gentleman, Sir Owen Tudor, one of the handsomest men of his time. She brought him two sons, of whom T'le eldest, Edmund, was created earl of Richmond, and his son afterwards ascended the English throne, under the title of Henry the Seventh. Rtrry the Fifth was produced in 1599 ; it was entered on the Stationers' books. A.ugusr l^iu, 1600 ; and printed in the same year. io» ttit PERSONS EEPEESENTED. King Henry the Fifth. Appeals, Act I. so. 2. Act II. bc. 2. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 8 ; bc. 6. Act IV. 80. 1 ; BO. 8 ; 80. 6 ; sc. 7 ; bc. 8. Act V. bc 2, Duke of Gloucestee, Brother to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act III. sc 1 ; sc. 6. Act IV. sc. 1 ; BO. 8 ; sc. 7 ; sc. 8. Act V. sc. 2. Duke of Bedford, Brother to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. so. 2. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc. 8. Act V. sc. 2. Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. so. 2 ; so. 4. Act III. bc. 1. Act IV. BC. 8 ; BC 6 ; sc. 7 ; sc. 8. Act V. so. 2. Dc£S OF York, Cousin to the King. Appears, Act IV. so. 8. Earl of Salisbury. Appears, Act IV. sc. 8. Earl of Westmoreland. •V/jpeara, Actl. sc. 2. Act II.se. 2. Act IV. bc 8. ActV.BC.2. Earl of Warwick. Appears, Act I. sc 2. Act IV. bc. 7 ; sc. 8. Act V. sc. 2. Archbishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Ely. Appear, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Earl of Cambridge, ) ^ . . , r o f Conspirators against the Lord Scroop, > -^ . '^ Sir Thomas Grey, ) °* Appear, Act II. bc 2. Sir Thomas Erpingham. Appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Gower, an Officer in King Henry's army. Fluellen, a Welsh Officer. Afmttw, Act III. sc 2 ; sc. 6. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc 7 ; so. 6. Act V. 80. 1. Macmorris, an Irish Officer. Jamy, a Scotch Officer. Appear, Act III. sc. 2. Williams, a Soldier. JpptarSf Act IV. so. 1 ; sc. 7 ; so. 8. Bates, Court, Appear, Act IV. sc 1, Nym. Bardolph. Appear, Act II. so. 1 ; bo. 8. Aot III. bo. 2. 818 w Soldiers, Pistol. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; bc 8. Act III. sc. 2 ; so. 6. Act IV. so. 1 ; BC. 4. Act V. bc. 1. Boy, attending on Nym, Bardolph, and Pistol. Appears, Act II. sc 1 ; sc. 8. Act III. so. 2. Act IV. so. 4 An English Herald. Appears, Act IV. sc. 8. Charles the Sixth, Kinff of France. Avveais, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 5. Act V. bo. 8. Lewis, the Dauphin. Appears,Ko\,\l. &c. i. Act III. bc 5; bc.7. Act IV. bo. 2; set Duke of Bukgundu. Appears, Aot II. sc. 4. Act V. sc. 2 Duke of Orleans. Appears, Act III. so. 7. Act IV. bo. 2 ; uc. ? Duke of Bourbon. Appears, Act III. sc. 5. Act IV. bo. 5. The Constable of France. Appears,Actll. sc.4. Act III. sc. 5; sc 7. Act IV. sc. 5J. .-,... .. Lord Rambures. Appears, Act III. sc. 8. Act IV. so. 2 ; so fi Lord Grandpree. Appears, Act IV. sc. 2. Governor of Harfleub. Appears, Act III. sc. 8. MoNTjoY, a French Herald. Appears, Act III. sc. 6. Act IV. sc. 3 ; bu. i . Ambassadors from Franob, Appear, Act I. so. 2. Chorus. EntetB before each Act, and at the conclusio-i of the PJay Isabel, Queen of France. Appears, Act V. sc. 2. Katherine, Daughter of Charles and Isabel. Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katherine. Appear, Aot III. sc 4. Act V. sc. 2. Hostess, now married to Pistol. Appears, Act II. bc 1 ; sc 8. Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Sol- diers, Messengers, and Attendants. SCENE, — At the beginning of the Flag lies in England: but afterwards wholly in France. ling leurtj tijp l^iftji. OHOR US. Enter Chorus. O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The briijhtest heaven of invention ! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire. Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all. The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth So great an object : Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram Within this wooden O, the very casques. That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 0, pardon ! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little place, a million ; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work '} Suppose, within the girdle of these walls Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies. Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Piece out our imperfections with your thcughts; Into a thousand parts divide one man. And make imaginary puissance Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth : For 't is your thoughts that now must deck oui kings. Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; Turning tjie accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass : For the which supply. Admit me chorus to this history ; Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play ACT I. SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the King's Palace. Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop OF Ely. Cant. My lord, I '11 tell you, — that self bill is urg'd,* Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign Was like, and 1 ad indeed against us pass'd. But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of further question. Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now 1 Cant. It must be thought on. If it past against us. We lose the better half of our possession : For all the temporal lands, which men devout By testament have given to the church, Would they strip from us ; being valued thus,— 819 ACT I. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCEUE II. As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ; "Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, Of indigent faint souls, pest corporal toil, A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied ; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year : Thus runs the bill. Ely. This would drink deep. Cant. 'T would drink the cup and all. Ely. But what prevention ? Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard. Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. The breath no sooner left his fether's body. But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment. Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the oflfending Adam out of him : Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made : Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady current, scouring faults ; Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat, and all at once. As in this king. Ely. We are blessed in the change. Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire, the king were made a prelate : Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study : List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music : Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks. The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lui'keth in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theuric : Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, Since lis addiction was to courses vain : His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow ; His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports ; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 820 Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality ; And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt. Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive^ in his faculty. Cant. It must be so : for miracles are ceas'd ; And therefore we must needs admit the means, How things are perfected. Ely. But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urg'd by the commons ? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no ? Cant. He seems indifterent ; Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, Than cherishing the exhibiters against us : For I have made an offer to his majesty, — Upon our spiritual convocation ; And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large. As touching France, — to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord \ Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; Save, that there was not time enough to hear (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,) The severals, and unhidden passages. Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms : And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off" ? Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is come, To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock ? Ely. It is. Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy: Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. Ely. I '11 wait upon you ; and I long to hear it. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in the same. Enter King Henry, Gloster, Bedford, Exe- ter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attend- ants. K. Hen. Where is ray gracious lord>4rf Canter bury ? Exe. Not here in presence. K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. ACT I. KING HENRY THE FIFfH. SCENE n. West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ? K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be re- solv'd, Before we hear him, of some things of weight, That task our thoughts, concerning us and France, Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of Ely. Cant. God, and bis angels, guard youi sacred throne. And make you long become it! K. Ren. Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ; And justly and religiously unfold. Why the law Salique, that they have in France, Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your read- ing, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth : For God doth know, how many, now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to : Therefore take heed how you impawn our person. How you awake the sleeping sword of war ; We charge you in the name of God, take heed : For never two such kingdoms did contend. Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord : And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, Th t what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and you peers. That owe your lives, your faith, and services. To this imperial throne ; — There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France, But this, which they produce from Pharamond, — In terrain Salicam mulieres nd succedant, " No woman shall succeed in Salique land :" Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm. That the land Salique lies in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: Where Charles the Great, having subdued tbp. Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French ; Who, holding in disdain the German women. For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land ; Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen. Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law ; Was not devised for the realm of France : Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of king Pharamond, Idly suppos'd the founder of this law ; Who died within the year of our reder ption Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,— To fine his title with some show of truth, (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) Convey'd himself as heir to the lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also king Lewis the tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother. Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain : By the which marriage, the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female ; So do the kings of France unto this day ; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, To bar your highness claiming from the female ; And rather choose to hide them in a net. Than amply to imbare their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 821 ACT I. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE It. K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make this claim ? Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ; For in the book of Numbers is it writ, — When the son dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ; Look back unto your mighty ancestors : Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great uncle's, Edward the Black Prince ; Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France ; Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. noble English, that could entertain With half their forces the full pride of France ; And let another half stand laughing by. All out of work, and cold for action ! Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead. And with your puissant arm renew their feats : You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; The blood and courage, that renowned them. Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes. Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. As did the former lions of your blood. West. They know, your grace hath cause, and means, and might ; So hath your highness ;* never king of England Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ; Whose hearts have left their bodies here in Eng- land, And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. Cant. 0, let their bodies follow, my dear liege. With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right : In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With a.l advantages. Cant. They of those marches,* gracious sove- reign, Shall be a wall suflicient to defend 882 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatch ers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; For you shall read, that my great grandfather Never went with his forces into France, But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach. With ample and brim fulness of his force ; Galling the gleaned land with hot essays; Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns ; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighbour- hood. Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege : For hear her but exampled by herself, — When all her chivalry hath been in France, And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended. But taken, and impounded as a stray. The king of Scots ; whom she did send to Franco To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings ; And make your chronicle as rich with praise, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. West. But there 's a saying, very old and true, — " If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin :" For once the eagle England being in prey. To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat. To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : Yet that is but a curs'd necessity ; Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad. The advised head defends itself at home : For government, though high, and low, and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one concent,' Congruing in a full and natural close. Like music. Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions. Setting endeavour in continual motion ; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt. Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. ACT I. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENK U. They have a king, and oflBcers of sorts : Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings. Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor : Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold ; The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; ' The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — That many things, having full reference To one concent, may work contrariously ; As many arrows, loosed several ways. Fly to one mark ; As many several ways meet in one town ; As many fresh streams run in one self sea ; As many lines close in the dial's centre ; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice that power left at home, Cannot defend our own door from the dog. Let us be worried ; and our nation lose The name of hardiness, and policy. K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. \Exit an Attend. The King ascends his Throne. Now are we well resolv'd : and, by God's help ; And yours, the noble sinews of our power, — France being ours, we '11 bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces : Or there we '11 sit, » Ruling, in large and ample empery. O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms ; Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them : Either our history shall, with full mouth. Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave. Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France. ' Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear. Your greeting is from him, not from the king. Amb. May it please your majesty, to give ua leave Freely to render what we have in charge ; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy ? K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king : Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plam- ness, Tell us the Dauphin's mind. Amb. Thus then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, king Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says, — that you savour too much of your youth : And bids you be advis'd, there 's nought in France, That can be with a nimble galliard won ; You cannot revel into dukedoms there : He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit. This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this. Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim. Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. K. Hen. We are glad, the Dauphin is so pleasant with us ; His present, and your pains, we thank you for : When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set. Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard : Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler. That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces.' And we understand him well. How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valu'd this poor seat of England ;' And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence : As 't is ever common. That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin, — I will keep my state ; Be like a king, and show my soul of greatness, When I do rouse me in my throne of France : For that I have laid by my majesty. And plodded like a man for working-days ; But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gTin-stones ;* and his soul 828 ACT II. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE 1. Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them : for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear hus- bands ; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ; And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal : And in whose name, Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on. To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin, His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.— Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well, [Exeunt Amh Exe. This was a merry message. K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. [Descends from his Throne. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour. That may give furtherance to our expedition For we have now no thought in us but France ; Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon, That may, with reasonable swiftness, add More feathers to our wings ; for, God before. We '11 chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore, let every man now task his thought. That this fair action may on foot be brought. [Exeunt ACT II. Enter Chorus. Char. Now all the youth of England are on fire. And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man : They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse ; Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits expectation in the air ; And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. The French, advis'd by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. England ! — model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, — What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural ! But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted • men, — One, Richard earl of C^ypbridge ; and the second, Henry 1( rd Scroop of M&sham ; and the third, 824 Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, — Have, for the gilt of France, (0 guilt, indeed !) Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, (If hell and treason hold their promises,) Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton, Linger your patience on ; and well digest The abuse of distance, while we force a play."* The sum is paid ; the traitoi-s are agreed ; The king is set from London ; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton : There is the playhouse now, there must you sit And thence to France shall we convey you safe And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may. We'll not offend one stomach" with our jjlay But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit, SCENE I.— The Same. Eastcheap, Enter Ntm and Bardolph. Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardo.ph. Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet? Nym. For my part, I care not : I say little ; but ACT II. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SC'ENK I. when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; — but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; but I will wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one ; but what though ? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will : and there 's the humour of it. Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends ; and we '11 be all three sworn brothers to France ;'* let it be so, good corporal Nym. Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that 's the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may ; that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly : and, certainly, she did you wrong ; for you were troth-plight to her. Nym. I cannot tell; things must be as they may : men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time ; and, some say, knives have edges. It must be as it may ; though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife: — good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine host Pistol ? PisU Base tike, call'st thou me — host ? Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term ; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Quick. No, by my troth, not long: for we can- not lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentle- women, that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy- house straight. [Nym draws his sioord.l^ well-a- day. Lady, if he be not drawn now ! Lord ! here 's corporal Nyra's — now shall we have wil- ful adultery and murder committed. Good lieu- tenant Bardolph — good corporal, oft'er nothing here. Nym. Pish ! Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dogj thou prick- eared cur of Iceland ! Quick. Good coiporal Nym, show the valour of a man, and put up thy sword. Nym. Will you shog off?'* I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sword. Pist. Solus, egregious dog ? O viper vile ! The solus in thy most marvellous face ; The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy ; And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 104 I do retort the solus in thy bowels : For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up. And flashing fire will follow. Nym. I am not Barbason ; you cannot conjure me.'* I have an humour to knock you indif- ferently well : If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terras : if you would walk oft', I would prick your guts a little, in good terras, as I may ; and that's the humour of it. Pist. braggard vile, and daraned furious ■wight ! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; Therefore exhale. [Pist. and Nym. draw. Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : — he that strikes the first stroke, I '11 run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [^Draws. Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ; Thy spirits are most tall. Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms ; that is the humour of it. Pist. Coupe le gorge, that 's the word ? — I thet defy again hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get ? No ; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse ; 1 have, and I will hold, the- quondam Quickly For the only she ; and — Pauca, there 's enough. Enter the Boy. Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, — and you, hostess ; — he is very sick, and would to bed. — Good Bardolph, put thy nose be- tween his sheets, and do the oflSce of a warming- pan : 'faith, he 's very ill. Bard. Away, you rogue. Quick. By my troth, he '11 yield the crow a pudding one of these days : the king has killed his heart. — Good husband, come home presently. [Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends 1 We must to France together : Why, the devil, should we keep knives to cut one another's throats ? Pist. Let floods o'erswell. and fiends for food howl on 1 Nym. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting ? Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 826 ACT II. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCKNE n. Nym. That now I \i ill have ; that 's the hu- mour of it. Pist. As manhood shall compound : Push home. Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I '11 kill him ; by this sword, I will. Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends : an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. Nym I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting ? Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; \nd liquor likewise will I give to thee, A.nd friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : I '11 live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; — Is not this just ? — for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. Nym. I shall have my noble ? Pist, In cash most justly paid. Nym. Well then, that 's the humour of it. Bfi-enter Mrs. Quickly. Quick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to sir John : Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, that 's the even of it. Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; His heart is fracted, and corroborate. Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be as it may ; he passes some humours, and ca- reers. Pist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lambkins, we will live. l^IJxeunt. SCENE II. — Southampton. A Council- Chamber. Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. Mxe. They shall be apprehended by and by. West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves ! , As if allegiance in their bosom sat. Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. ■Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 8M Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princelj favours, — That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henrt, Scroop Cambridge, Grey, Lords, and Attendants K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we wih aboard. My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord oi Masham, — And you, my gentle knight, give me yoar thoughts : Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, Will cut their passage through the force of France Doing the execution, and the act, For which we have in head assembled them ? Scroop, No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. K. Hen. I doubt not that : since we are well persuaded. We carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd, Than is your majesty : there 's not, I think, a sub- ject. That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. Orey. Even those, that were your father's ene- mies, Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank- fulness ; And shall forget the office of our hand. Sooner than quittance of desert and merit. According to the weight and worthiness. Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil And labour shall refresh itself with hope. To do your grace incessant services. IT. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday. That rail'd against our person : we consider, It was excess of wine that set him on ; And, on his more advice, we pardon him.'* Scroop. That 's mercy, but too much security ' Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example Breed, by his sufierance, more of such a kind. ACT II. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE n. K. Hen. 0, let us yet be merciful. Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. Orey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and di- gested, Appear before us ? — We '11 yet enlarge that man. Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their dear care. And tender preservation of our person, — Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes; Who are the late commissioners ?'® Cam. I one, my lord ; Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Scroop. So did you me, my liege. Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there is yours ; — There yours, lord Scroop of Masham ; — and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : — Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, — We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- men ? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change ! Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood Out of appearance ? Cam. I do confess my fault ; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms. As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. — See you, my princes, and my noble peers. These English monsters ! My lord of Cambridge here, — You know, how apt our love was, to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour ; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly eonspir'd, And sworn unto the practices of France, To kill us here in Hampton : to the which. This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn.— ButO! What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop ; thou cruel; Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels. That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use ? May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, That might annoy my finger ? 't is so strange. That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it, Treason, and murder, ever kept together. As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose. Working so grossly in a natural cause. That admiration did not whoop at them : But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder : And whatsoever cunning fiend it was. That wrought upon thee so preposterously, H' ath got the voice in hell for excellence : And other devils, that suggest by treasons, Do botch -and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he, that temper'd thee, bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason. Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same daemon, that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his lion gait walk the whole world. He might return to vasty Tartar'' back. And tell the legions — I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 0, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ? Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned \ Why, so didst thou : Come they of noble family \ Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious ? Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in diet ; Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger ; Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement ; Not working with the eye, without the ear. And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? ACT II. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE 111, S ch, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem : And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man, and best endued, With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, Arrest them to the answer of the law : — And God acquit them of their practices ! Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd : And I repent my fault, more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. Cam. For me, — the gold of France did not se- duce ; Although I did admit it as a motive, The sooner to efiect what I intended : But God be thanked for prevention ; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice. Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason. Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise : My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy I Hear your sentence. You have conspir'd against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude. His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom unto desolation. Touching our person, seek we no revenge ; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death : The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you Patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences ! — Bear them hence. \Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. Now, lords, for France ; the enterprise whereof Shall bo to you, as us, like gl^ious. 828 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war •, Since God so graciously liath brought to light This dangerous treason, lurking in our way. To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now. But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then, forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : No king of England, if not king of France. [^Exeunt SCENE III. — London. Mrs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolph, and Boy. Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let mc bring thee to Staines. Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn. — Bardolph, be blithe; — Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins ; Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead And we must yearn therefore. Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'ci he is, either in heaven, or in hell ! Quick. Nay, sure, he 's not in hell ; he is in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child ; 'a parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at turning o' the tide :'^ for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, sir John ? quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out — • God, God, God 1 three or four times : now I, tc comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God ; I hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet : So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet : I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. Nym. They say, he cried out of sack. Quick. Ay, that 'a did. Bard. And of women. Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were devils incarnate. Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; 't waa a colour he never liked. ACT U. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE rv. Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him about women. Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle wo- men : but then he was rheumatic ;'^ and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose ; and 'a said, it was a black soul burning in hell-fire ? Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that fire : that 's all the riches I got in his ser- vice. Nym. Shall we shog ofi"? the king will be gone from Southampton. Pist. Come, let 's away. — My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels, and my moveables : Let senses rule ; the word is, " Pitch and pay ;" Trust none ; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck ; Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms. Let us to France ! like horse-leeches, my boys ; To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. Nym,. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but adieu. Pist. Let housewifery appear ; keep close, I thee command. Quick. Farewell ; adieu. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — France. A Room in the French King's Palace. Enter the French King attended ; the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and Others. Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power upon us ; And more than carefully it us concerns, lo answer royally in our defences. Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — And you, prince Dauphin, — with all swift despatch. To lice, and new repair, our towns of war. With men of courage, and with means defendant : For England his approaches makes as fierce, As waters to the sucking of a gulph. It fits us then, to be as provident As fear may teach us, out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. Dau. My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question,) But that defences, musters, preparations. Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say, 't is meet we all go forth, To view the sick and feeble parts of France : And let us do it tvith no show of fear ; No, with no more, than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd. Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Con. peace, prince Dauphin ! You are too much mistaken in this king : Question your grace the late ambassadors, — With what great state he heard their embassy. How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and, withal. How terrible in constant resolution, — And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring, and be most delicate. Dau. Well, 't is not so, my lord high constable, But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence, 't is best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems, So the proportions of defence are fill'd ; Which, of a weak and niggardly projection," Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting A little cloth. Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ; And he is bred out of that bloody strain, That haunted us in our familiar paths : Witness our too much memorable shame. When Cressy battle fatally was struck. And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand Of that black name, Edward Black Prince of Wales , Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain standing. Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, — 829 ACT n. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE IT. Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him Mangle the work of nature, and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Ambassadors from Henry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. Fr. King. We 'II give them present audience. Go, and bring them, [Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords. You see, this chase is hotly folio w'd, friends. Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward dogs Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to threaten, Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short ; and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head : Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lokds with Exeter and Train. Fr. King. From our brother England ? Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your ma- jesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven, By law of nature, and of nations, 'long To him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown. And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordinance of times, Unto the crown of France. That you may know, 'T is no sinister, nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days. Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper. In every branch truly demonstrative : Willing you, overlook this pedigree : And, when you find him evenly deriv'd From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. Fr. King. Or else what follows ? Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : A.nd therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 880 In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy On the poor souls, for whom this hungiy war Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries. The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans For husbands, fathei-s, and betrothed lovers. That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this fur ther: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. Dau. For the Dauphin, I stand here for him : What to him from England ? Exe. Scorn, and defiance ; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large. Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He '11 call you to so hot an answer for it. That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply. It is against my will : for I desire Nothing but odds with England ; to that end. As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with those Paris balls. Exe. He '11 make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe : And, be assur'd, you '11 find a difference, (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) Between the promise of his greener days. And these he masters now ; now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay ; For he is footed in this land already. Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd with fair conditions : A night is but small breath, and little pause, To answer matters of this consequence. [Exeunt Kf:t TO, KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENK a. >10T III. Enter Chorus. Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet With silken streamera the young Phoebus fanning. Play with your fancies ; and in them behold, Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing : Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails. Borne with the invisible and creeping wind. Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea. Breasting the lofty surge : 0, do but think, Y^ou stand upon the rivage," and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow ! Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy ; A-ud leave your England, as dead midnight, still. Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women. Either past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance : For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to Franco ? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege : Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry — that the king doth ofier him Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The ofier likes not : and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum ; and Chambers go off. Aud down goes all before them. Still be kind. And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. SCENE I.— The Same. Before Harfieur. Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloster, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders. S. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead I In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears. Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; Let it pry through the portage of the head. Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully, as doth a galled rock O'erhand and jutty his confounded base,'° Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height ! — On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument, Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest, That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you ! Be copy now to men of grosser blood. And teach them how to war ! — And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot ; Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge. Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George ! [Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off. SCENE \l.—The Same. Forces pass over; then enter Nym, BardoCph, Pistol, and Boy. Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the breach ! N^ym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay ; the knocks are too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives :^' the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. 881 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE II. Pist. The plain-song is most just ; for humours do abound ; Knocks go and come to all and some ; God's vassals feel the same. And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London ! would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PisU And I : If wishes would prevail with me. My purpose should not fail with me. But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter Flxtellen. Flu. Got's plood! — Up to the preaches, you rascals 1 will you not up to the preaches ? [Driving them forward. Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! Abate thy rage, great duke ! Good bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet chuck ! Nym. These be good humours ! — your honour wins bad humours. [Exeunt Nym., Pist., and Bar., followed by Flu. Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three : but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me ; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is white-livered, and red-faced ; by the means where- of, 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, — ^he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword ; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, — he hath heard, that men of few words are the best men ; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward ; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own ; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, »Tid call it, — purchase. Bardolph stole a lute case ; bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym, and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching ; and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals.**. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or fheir handkerchiefs : which makes much against 882 my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service : their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy. Re-enter Fluellek, Gower following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come present ly to the mines ; the duke of Gloster would speak with you. Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines : For, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war ; the concavities of it is not sufiicient ; for, look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you,) is dight himself four yards under the countermines :'* by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not better directions. Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman ; a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not ? Gow. I think, it be. Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld: I will verify as much in his peard : he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter Macmorris and Jamt, at a distance. Gow. Here 'a comes : and the Scots captain, captain Jamy, with him. Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain ; and of great expedi- tion, and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the 'orld, in the disciplines Oi the pristine wars of the Romans. Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ? have you quit the mines ? have the pioneers given o'er ? . Mac. By Crish la, tish ill done ; the work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish ill done ; it ish give over : I would have blow ed up the town, so Crish save me, la, in an hour. 0, tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done I ACT III. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE III. Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, wi'l you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly com- munication ; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline ; that is the point. Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud cap- tains bath : and I sail quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion ; that sail I, marry. Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Crish save me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes ; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trum- pet calls us to the breach ; and we talk, and, by Crish, do nothing; 't is shame for us all : so God sa' me, 't is shame to stand still ; it is shame, by ray hand : and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done ; and there ish nothing done, so Crish sa' me, la. Jam-g. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile ligge i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I Rurely do, that is the breff and the long: Mary, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you 'tway. Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation Mac. Of my nation ? What ish my nation ? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. Flu. Look you, if you take the matter other- wise than is meant, captain Macmorris, perad- venture, I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the deriva- tion of my birth, and in other particularities. Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my- self: so Crish save me, I will cut off your head. Oow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au ! that 's a foul fault. [A Parley sounded. Oow. The town sounds a parley. Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more be*ter opportunity to be required, look you, I will 105 be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war ; and there is an end. \Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Before the Gates of Harfleur. The Governor and some Citizens on the Walls; the English Forces below. Enter King Hknrt, and his Train. K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town ? This is the latest parle we will admit : Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ; Or, like to men proud of destruction. Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur. Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; And the flesh'd soldier — rough and nard of heart — In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants What is it then to me, if impious war, — Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,— Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? What is 't to me, when you yourselves are cause If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation ? What rein can hold licentious wickedness. When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precepts to the Leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town, and of your people. Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. If not, why, in a moment, look to see The Wind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; Your fathers taken by the silver beards. And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ; Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 888 \ AOT III. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE rv-v. What say you ? will you yield, and this avoid ? Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd ? Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated. Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy : Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ; For we no longer are defensible. K. Hen. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — The winter coming on, and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, — we '11 retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest ; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. \Flourish. The King, c&c, enter the Town. SCENE IV. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace. Enter Katharine and Alice. Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, et tu paries Men le language. Alice. En peu, madame. Kath. Je te prie, m'enseigneuz ; il faut que fapprenne a parler. Comment appellez vous la main, en Anglois ? Alice. La main ? elle est appellee, de hand. Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? Alice. Les doigts ? may foy,je ouhlie les doigts; mais je me souviendray. Les doigts ? je pense, quHls sont appelle de fingres ; ouy, de fingres. Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense, que je suis le hon escolier. J^ay gagne deux mots d' Anglois vistement. Comment appellez vous les angles ? Alice. Les cnigles ? les appellons, de nails. Kath. De nails. Escoutez ; dites moy, si je varle hien : de hand, de fingres, de nails. Alice. Cest hien dit, madame ; il est fort hon Anglois. Kath. Dites moy en Anglois le bras. Alice. De arm, madame. Kath. Et le coude. Alice. De elbow. Kath. De elbow. Je m'enfaitz la repetition de lous les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. Kath. Excusez moy, Alice ; escoutez : De hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbo w. 884 Alice. De elbow, madame. Kath. Seigneur Dieuf je m^en ouhlie : l>e elbow. Comment appellez vous le col ? Alice. De neck, madame. Kath. De neck : Et le mcnton ? Alice. De chin. Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de sin. Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur ; en verite, vous prononces les mots aussi droict que les nati/s dAngleterre. Kath. Je ne doute point d^apprendre par la grace de Lieu ; et en peu de temps. Alice. N''avez vous pas dcja ouhlie ce que J9 vous ay enseign^e ? Kath. JVon, je reciteray a vous promptemerK. De hand, de fingre, de mails, — Alice. De nails, madame. Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. Alice. Souf vostre honneur, de elbow. Kath. Ainsi dis je ; de elbow, de neck, et de sin : Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe ? Alice. De foot, madame ; et de con. Kath. De foot, et de con ? Seigneur Lieu/ ces sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impudique, et nonpour les dames d' honneur d''user : Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les Sei- gneurs de France, pour tout le monde. II faut de foot, et de con, neant-moins. Je reciterai une autrefois ma le^on ensemble : De hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de con. Alice. Excellent, madame/ Kath. Cest assez pour une fois ; allons nous a disner. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — The Same. Another Boom in the same. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of France, and Others. Fr. King. 'T is certain, he hath pass'd the rivei Somme. Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France ; let us quit all. And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dau. Lieu vivant/ shall a few spr.'.ya of us, — The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds And overlook their grafters ? KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE n. Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards ! Mort de ma vie / if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.^" Co7i. Dieu de hattailes ! where have they this mettle ? Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, • Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty ? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; Poor — we may call them, in their native lords. Dau. By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us ; and plainly say. Our mettle is bred out; and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth, To new-store France with bastard warriors. Bour. They bid us — to the English dancing- schools. And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ; Saying, our grace is only in our heels. And that we are most lofty runaways. Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald ? speed him hence ; Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. — Up, princes ; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ; You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; Jaqiies Chatillion, Rambures, Vauderaont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, For your great seats, now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys ; whose low vassal seat The Alps loth spit and void his rheum upon : Go down upon him, — you have power enough, — And in a captive chariot, into RoUen Bring him our prisoner. Con. This becomes the great. Sorry am I, his numbers are so few. His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march ; For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, He 11 drop his heart into the sink of fear, And .or achievement, offer us his ransom. Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste od Montjoy ; And let him say to England, that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rovien. Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. Fr. King, Be patient, for you shall remain with us. — Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all ; And quickly bring us word of England's fall, [Exeunt. SCENE YI.— The English Camp in Picardy. Enter Gower and Fluellen. Oow. How now, captain Fluellen ? come you from the bridge ? Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent ser- vice committed at the pridge. Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers : he is not, (God be praised, and plessed !) any hurt in the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly,^' with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man of no estimation in the 'orld : but I did see him do gallant service. Gow. What do you call him ? Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol. Gow. I know him not. Enter Pistol. Flu. Do you not know him ? Here comes the man. Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours : The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. Flu. Kj, I praise Got; and I have merited some love at his hands. Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and round of heart, Of buxom valour, hath, — by cruel fate, And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 836 ACT UI. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCKXB VI. That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to you, that fortune is plind : An(f she is painted also with a wheel ; to signify w vou, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and variations, and mutabilities : and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls : — In good truth, the poet is make a most excellent description of fortune : fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him ; For he has stol'n a pix, and hanged must 'a be.^^ A damned death ! Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free. And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate : But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For pix of little price. Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice ; And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. Pist. Why then rejoice therefore. Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re- joice at : for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions ; for disciplines ought to be used. Pist. Die and be damn'd ; and figo for thy friendship ! Flu. It is well. Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit Pist. Flu. Very good. Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I remember him now; a bawd ; a cutpurse. Flu. I '11 assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : But it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. Oow. Why, 't is a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names : and they will learn you by rote, where services were done ; — at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy ; who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms tlie enemy stood on ; and this they 886 con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-coined oaths; And what a beard of the general's cut,^ and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale- washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on ! but you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous mistook. Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; — I dd perceive, he is not the man that he would gladly .make show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.'] Hark you, the king is coming; and I must speak with him from the pridge. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers. Flu. Got pless your majesty. K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ? camest thou front, the bridge ? Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke oi Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge : the French is gone off, look you ; and there is gallant and most prave passages : Marry, th' ath- versary was have possession of the pridge ; but he is enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge : I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen ? Flu. The perdition of th" athversary hath been very great, very reasonable great : marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red ; but his nose is executed, and his fire 's out. K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut off: — and we give express charge, that, in our marches through the country, there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for ; none of the French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language : For vi'hen lenity and cruel- ty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. Mont. You know me by my habit. K. Hen. Well then, I know thee : What shal] I know of thee 1 Mont. My master's mind. K.Hen. Unfold it Acr in. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE VII. Mont. Thus says my king : — Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep: Advantage is a better soldier, than rash- ness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur ; but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial : England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and ad- mire our sufferance. Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransom ; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the dis- grace we have digested ; which, in weight to re- answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too poor ; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number ; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add — defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pronounced. So far my king and master ; so much my oflSce. K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality. Mont. Montjoy. K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now : But could be willing to march on to Calais Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, (Though 't is no wisdom to confess so much Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have, Almost no better than so many French ; Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, I thought, upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive me, God, That I do brag thus ! this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am ; My ransom, is this frail and worthless trunk; My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; Yet, God before, tell him we will come on. Though France himself, and such another neigh- bour, Stand in our way. There 's for thy labour, Montjoy. Go, bid thy master well advise himself: If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this : We would not seek a battle, as we are ; Nor, as we are, we say, we will nof shun it ; So tell your master. Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high ness. [Exit Mont Glo. I hope, they will not come upon us now. K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, nof in theirs. March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night : — Beyond the river we '11 encamp ourselves ; And on to-morrow bid them march away. \Exeunt, SCENE VII. — TAe French Cam;p, n^ar Agincourt. Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram- BURES, the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and Others. Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world — 'Would, it were day ! Orl. You have an excellent armour; but lei my horse have his due. Con. It is the best horse of Europe. Orl. Will it never be morning ? Bau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high Constable, you talk of horse and armour, — Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any prince in the world. Dau. What a long night is this ! 1 will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha ! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs ; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, que a les narines de feu ! When I be- stride him, I soar, I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. Orl. He 's of the colour of the nutmeg. Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the dull elements of earth and water never appeal in him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you may call — beasts. Con. Indeed, ray lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. Dau. It is the prince of palfreys : his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. Orl. No more, cousin. Dau. Nay, the man hafh no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a 887 ACT HI. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE VH. theme as fluent as the sea ; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and ray horse is argument for them all : 't is a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on ; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus : " Wonder of nature," — Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- posed to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. Orl. Your mistress bears well. Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress. Con. Mafoy ! the other day, methought, your mistress shrewdly shook your back. Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. Con. Mine was not bridled. Dau. O ! then, belike, she was old and gentle ; and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your straight trossers.'" Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. Dau. Be warned by me then : they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress. Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. Dnu. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her own hair. Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress. Dau. Le chein est retourni a son propre vomisse- 7nent, et la truie lavee au bourbier : thou makest use of any thing. Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress ; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. Ham. My lord constable, the armour that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it? Con. Stars, my lord. Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. Con. And yet my sky shall not want. Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super- fluously ; and 't were more honour, some were away. Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; wlio would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Dau. 'Would, I were able to load him with his desert ! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-raor- low a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. 8S8 Con. I will not say so, for fear I shoald be faced out of my way : But I would it were morn- ing, for I would fain be about the ears of the English. Ham. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners ? Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them. Dau. 'T is midnight, I '11 go arm myself. [Uxit Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. Ham. He longs to eat the English. Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he 's a gallant prince. Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of France. Con. Doing is activity : and he will still be doing. Oi'l. He never did harm, that I heard of. Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep that good name still. Orl. I know him to be valiant. Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better than you. Orl. What 's he ? Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he cared not who knew it. Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body saw it, but his lackey : 't is a hooded valour ; and, when it appears, it will bate. Orl. Ill will never said well. Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flattery in fiiendship. Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the devil his due. Con. Well placed ; there stands your friend for the devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, with — A pox of the devil. Orl. You are the better at proverbs, bv how much — A fool's bolt is soon shot. Con. You have shot over. Orl. 'T is not the first time you were ovei- shot. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord high Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. Con. Who hath measured the ground ? Mess. The lord Grand pre. Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.— ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. CHORUS. Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of Eng- land ! he longs not for the dawning, as we do. Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge ! Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces. Ram. That island of England breeds very val- iant creatures : their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Orl. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples : You may as well say, — that 's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathise with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives : and then give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now ia it time to arm : Come, shall we about it? Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see, — by ten. We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. ACT lY. Enter Chorus. Char. Now entertain conjecture of a time. When creeping murmur, and the poring dark. Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night. The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch : Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs, Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents. The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll. And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice ;'' And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. Let hinl cry — Praise and glory on his head ! For forth he goes, and visits all his host; Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile ; And calls them — brothers, friends, and country- men. Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army hath enrounded him ; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night : But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; That every wretch, pining and pale before. Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : A largess universal, like the sun. His liberal eye doth give to every one. Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night : And so our scene must to the battle flv : Where (0 for pity !) we shall much disgrace — • With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 889 ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE 1. Kiglit ill-disposed, in brawl ridiculous, — The name of Agincourt : Yet, sit and see ; Minding true things, by what their mockeries be. [IJxiL SCENE I. — The English Cam2) at Agincourt. Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster. K. Hen. Gloster, 't is true, that we are in great danger ; The greater therefore should our courage be. — Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out ; For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry : Besides, they are our outward consciences. And preachers to us all ; admonishing, That we should dress us fairly for our end.'^ Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself. Enter Erpingham, Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France. Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me better, Since I may say — now lie I like a king. K. Hen. 'T is good for men to love their present pains, Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move With casted slough and fresh legerity." Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both. Commend me to the princes in our camp ; Do ray good morrow to them ; and, anon, Desire them all to my pavilion. Olo. We shall, my liege. \Exeunt Glo. and Bed. Erp. Shall I attend your grace ? K. Hen. No, my good knight ; Go with my brothers to my lords of England : I and my bosom must debate a while, And then I would no other company. Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! [Exit Erp. K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speakest cheerfully. Enter Pistol. PiiU Qui va Id ? 840 K. Hen. A friend. Pist. Discuss unto me : Art thou officer ? Or art thou base, common, and popular ? K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ? K. Hen. Even so : What are you ? Pist, As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. Pist. The king 's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame ; Of parents good, of fist most valiant : I kiss his dirty shoe, and from ray heart-strings I love the lovely bully. What 's thy name ? K. Hen. Harry le Roy. Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew ? K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ? K. Hen. Yes. Pist. Tell him, I '11 knock his leek about hia pate, Upon Saint Davy's day. K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. Pist. Art thou his friend ? K. Hen. And his kinsman too. Pist. The figo for thee then ! K, Hen. I thank you : God be with you ! Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. Ooio. Captain Fluellen ! Flu. So ! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the uni- versal 'orld, when the true and auncient preroga- tifes and laws of the wars is not kept : if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pom- pey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pom- pey's camp ; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and. the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. Oow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him all night. Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb ; in your own conscience now ? Gow. I will speak lower. ACT IV KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCKNE I. Flu. I pi ay you, and beseech you, that you will. \Exeunt Gow. and Flu. K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter Bates, Court, and Williams. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder ? Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. — Who goes there ? K. Hen. A friend. Will. Under what captain serve you ? K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the .ving ? K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a man, as I am : the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me ; all his senses have but human con- ditions ; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man ; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing ; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his ffears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are : Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his array. Bates. He may show what outward courage he will : but, I believe, as cold a night as 't is, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all ad- ventures, so we were quit here. K. Ken. By my troth, I will speak my con- science of the king ; I think, he would not wish himself any where but where he is. Bates Then, 'would he were here alone ; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved. K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone ; howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds : Methinks, I could not die any where so contented, as in the king's com- 106 pany ; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Will. That 's more than we know. Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make ; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day. and cry all — We died at such a place ; some, swearing; some, crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor behind them ; some, upon the debts they owe ; some, upon their chil- dren rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, that die in battle ; for how can they chari- tably dispose of any thing, when' blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that seni him : or it a servant, under his master's command, transporting a sum of money, be assailed by rob- bers, and die in many ii reconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation : — But this is not so : the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant ; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitreraent of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder ; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury ; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of jieace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to Ay from God : war is his beadle, war is his vengeance ; so that here men are punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel : where they feared the death, they have borne life away ; and where they would be safe, they perish : Then if they die un- provided, no more is the king guilty of their dam- 841 ACT IV KING HENRZ THE FIFTH. 8CBNB I. nation than he was before guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every sub- ject's duty is the king's ; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience : and dying so, death is to him advantage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gain- ed : and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare. Will. 'T is certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him, K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed. Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheer- fully : but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Will. 'Mass, you '11 pay him then ?^ That 's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You '11 never trust his word after ! come, 't is a foolish saying. K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; I should be angry with you, if the time were con- venient. Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. K. Hen. I embrace it. Will. How shall I know thee again ? K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Will. Here 's my glove ; give me another of thine. K. Hen. There. Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, " This is my glove," by this hand, 1 will take thee a bo.x on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company. 842 Will. Keep thy word ; fare tnee well. Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends ; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell h('W to reckon. K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one, they will beat us ; for they bear them on their shoulders : 13ut it is no Eng- lish treason, to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and Our sins, lay on the king ; — we must bear all. hard condition ! twin-born with greatness, Subjected to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wnng- ing! What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy ? And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ? What are thy rents ? what are thy comings-in ? ceremony, show me but thy worth ! What is the soul of adoration ? Art tliou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men ? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness. And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! Think'st thou, the fiery' fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending ? Canst thou, when thou comraand'st the beggar's knee. Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 1 am a king, that find thee ; and I know, 'T is not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial. The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the king. The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical. Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; Who, with a body fiU'd, and vacant mind. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCEl^K n. Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; But, like a lackey, from the rise to set. Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn. Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; And follow so the ever-running year With profitable labour, to his grave : And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep. Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. I The slave, a member of the country's peace, j Enjoys it; but in gross brains little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. Enter Erpingham. Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- sence, Seek through your camp to find you. K. Hen. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent: I '11 be before thee. Erp. I shall do 't, my lord. [Exit. K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts ! Possess them not with fear ; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown ! 1 Richard's body have interred new ; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears. Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay. Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do : Though all that I can do, is nothing worth ; Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter Gloster. Olo. My liege ! K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ? — Ay ; I know thy errand, I will go with thee : — The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. \Exeunt. SCENE II.— 7%e French Camp. ^nfer Dauphin, Orleans, RAMBUREs,a?ii Others Orl. The sun doth gild our armour ; up, my lords. Dau. Montez a cheval : — My horse! valet f lac- quay f ha! Orl. brave spirit ! Dau. Via ! — les eaux et la terre Orl. Rienpuis? Vair et lefeu Dau. del ! cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my lord Constable ! Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides ; That their hot blood may spin in English eyes. And dout them with superfluous courage : Ha ! Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood ? How shall we then behold their natural tears ? Enter a Messenger. Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers. Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to horse ! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands ; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'T is positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,— Who, in unnecessary action, swarm About our squares of battle, — were enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe ; Though we, upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation : But that our honours must not. What's to say! A very little little let us do. And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket-sonnance,'* and the note to mount ; For our approach shall so much dare the field, 843 ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. Enter Grandpre. Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France ? Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favour'dly become the morning field : Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host. And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in each hand : and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips; The gum down-roping from their pale-dead e^es ; And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit^® Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless ; And their executors, the knavish crows. Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words, To demonsti-ate the life of such a battle In life so lifeless as it shows itself. Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them ? Con. I stay but for my guard : On, to the field : I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. \Exe%int. SCENE Wl.—The English Camp. Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland. Ola. Where is the king ? Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. West, Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand. Exe. There 's five to one ; besides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm strike with us I 'tis a fearful odds, trod be wi' you, prince? all ; I '11 to my charge : tf wo no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, — My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exeter, — And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu. Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury ; and good luck go with thee! Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly to-day : And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it. For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. \_Exit Sal. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness ; Princely in boih. West. O that we had now here Enter King Henry. But one ten thousand of those men in England, That do no work to-day ! -K^. Hen. What 's he, that wishes so ? My cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my fair cousin : If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss ; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not, if men ray garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour. As one man more, methinks, would share from me. For the best hope I have. 0, do not wish one more : Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company. That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd — the feast of Crispian :^' He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends. And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian : Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, the.se wounds I had on Crispin's day. Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot. But he '11 remember, with advantages. What feats he did that day : Then shall our names: Familiar in their mouths as household word.s,- — ACT IV. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SC'KAK in. Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — Be in their flowing cups freshly remeraber'd : This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered : We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition : And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here ; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. Enter Salisbury. Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed : The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us. K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now ! K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin ? West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone. Without more help, might fight this battle out 1 K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; Which likes me better, than to wish us one. — You know your places : God be with you all ! Tucket. Enter Montjoy. Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt tiow compound. Before thy most assured overthrow ; For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The Constable desires thee — thou wilt mind Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor bodies Must lie and fester. K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ? Mont. The Constable of France. K Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back; Bid them acRieve me, and then seL my bones. Good God ! whv should they mock poor fellows thus? The man, that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast lived, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, Find native graves ; upon the which, I truot, Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam'd ; for there the sun shall greet them. And draw their honours reeking up to heaven ; Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime. The smell whereof shall breed a plague in Fi-ance. Mark then a bounding valour in our English ; That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, Break out into a second course of mischief, Killing in relapse of mortality. Let me speak proudly : — Tell the Constable, We are but warriors for the working day : Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besn#rch\} With rainy marching in the painful field ; There 's not a piece of feather in our host, (Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) And time hath worn us into slovenry : But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim : And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night They '11 be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads. And turn them out of service. If they do this, (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour ; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald ; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints ; Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them. Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well : Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. K. Hen. I fear, thou 'It once more come again for ransom. Enter the Duke of York.* Yoi-Je. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward. K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers, march away : — And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! [Exeiint. 846 ACT rv KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE IV-v. SCENE lY.—The Field of Battle. Alarums : Excursions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol, and Boy. Fist. Yield, cur. Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualite. Pist. Quality, call you me ? — Construe me, art thou a gentleman ? What is thy name ? discuss. Fr. Sol. seigneur Dieu ! Pist. 0, signieur Dew should be a gentleman : — Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark ; — signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,''-* Except, signieur, thou do give to me Effresrious ransom. Fr. Sol. 0, prennez misericorde ! ayez pitie de moy ! Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat,*' In drops of crimson blood. Fr. Sat. Est il impossible d^eschapper la force de ton bras ? Pist. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offer'st me brass ? Fr. Sol. pardonnez moy ! Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys?*' — Come hither, boy : A.sk me this slave in French, What is his name. Boy. Escoutez ; Comment estes vous appelle ? Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. Boy. He says, his name is — master Fer. Pist. Master Fer ! I '11 fer him, and firk him, and ferret him : — discuss the same in French unto him. Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ? Boy. II me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est dispose tout a cette heure de couper vostre gorge. Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant. Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour Vamour de JJieu, me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison ; gardez ma vie, etje vous donneray deut 'enta escus. 846 Pist. What are his words ? Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gentleman of a good house : and, for his ransom, he will give you two hundred crowns. Pist. Tell him, — my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take. Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il ? Boy. Encore quHl est contre son jurem-ent, de pardonner aucun prisonnier ; neantmoins, pour les escus que vous Vavez promts, il est content de vous donner la liberie, le franchisement, Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux,je vous donne mille remerciemens : etje m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingui seigneur d^Angleterre. Pist. Expound unto me, boy. Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England. Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. — Follow me, cur. [Exit Pist. Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. [Exit Fr. Sol. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, — The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bar- dolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play,*' that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger ; and they are both hanged ; and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp : the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it ; for there is none to guard it, but boys. [Exit, SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Field o/ Battle. Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, Constable, Rambures, and Others. Con. diable ! Or I. seigneur ! — le jour est perdu, tout est 2)erdu ! Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all ' Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes. — meschante /or tune ! — Do not run away. [A short Alarum ACT rv. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE Vl-VII. C(m. Why, all our ranks are broke. Bau. perdurable shame ! — let 's stab our- selves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for ? Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom ? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame ! Let us die instant : Once more back again ; And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door. Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminate. Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us, in heaps, go oflfer up our lives Unto these English, or else die with fame. Orl. We are enough yet living in the field. To smother up the English in our throngs. If any order might be thought upon. Bour. The devil take order now ! I '11 to the throng ; Let life be short ; else, shame will be too long. [Exeunt. SCENE Yl.— Another Part of the Field. Alarums. Enter King Henry and Forces ; Ex- eter, and Others. K. Hen, Well have we done, thrice-valiant coun- trymen ; But all 's not done, yet keep the French the field. Exe. The duke of York commends him to your majesty. K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle ? thrice within this hour, I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie, Larding the plain : and by his bloody side, (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. Sufiblk first died : and York, all haggled over. Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes. That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; And cries aloud, — " Tarry, dear cousin Sufiblk ! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven : Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast ; As, in this glorious and well-foughten field. We kept together in our chivalry !" Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up : He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand. And, with a feeble gripe, says, — " Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign." So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips ; And so, espous'd to death, with blood lie seal'd A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd ; But I had not so much of man in me. But all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears. K. Hen. I blame you not ; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. [Alarum. But, hark ! what new alarum is this same ? The French have reinforced their scatter'd men : — Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; Give the word through. [Exeunt. SCENE VU.— Another Part of the Field. Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 't is ex- pressly against the law of arms : 't is as ari-ant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered, in the 'orld : In your conscience now, is it not ? Gow. 'T is certain, there 's not a boy left alive and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the bat- tle, have done this slaughter : besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the king's tent; wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. 0, 't is a gallant king ! Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower : What call you the town's name, where Alexander the pig was born ? Gow. Alexander the Great. Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great ? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. Goiv. I think, Alexander the Great was born in Macedon ; his father was c-Uled — Philip of Ma- cedon, as I take it. Flu. I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain, — If you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon ; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye, at Mon- 847 A.OT IV, KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE vn. mouth ; but it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river ; but 't is all one, 't is so like as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it in- different well ; for there is figures in all things. Alexander (God knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indig- nations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. Gow. Our king is not like him in that ; he never killed any of his friends. Flu. It is not well done, mark you know, to take tales out of my moilth, ere it is made an end and finished. I speak but in the figures and com- parisons of it : As Alexainder is kill his friend Cly- tus, being in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his goot judgments, is turn awaj' the fat knight with the great pelly-doublet : he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks ; I am forget his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff. Flu. That is he : I can tell you, there is goot men boin at Monmouth. Gow. Here comes his majesty. Alarum. Enter King Henry, with a Part of the English Forces ; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter, and Others. K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill; If they will fight with us, bid them come down. Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : If they '11 do neither, we will come to them ; And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : Besides, we '11 cut the throats of those we have ; And not a man of them, that we shall take, Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so. ' Enter Montjoy. Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. K. Hen. How now 1 what means this, herald ? know'st thou not. That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom ? Com'st thou again for ransom ? Mont. No, great king: 848 I come to thee for charitable licence, That we may wander o'er this bloody field. To book our dead, and then to bury them ; To sort our nobles from our common men ; For many of our princes (woe the while !) Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes ;) and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters. Killing them twice. 0, give us leave, great king. To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies. K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not, if the day be ours, or no ; For yet a many of your horsemen peer. And gallop o'er the field. Mont. The day is yours. K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it !— What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by ? Mont. They call it — Agincourt. IC. Hen. Then call we this — the field of Agin court. Fought on the day of. Crispin Crispianus. Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 't please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. Flu. Your majesty says very true : If your ma- jesty is remembered of it, the Welshman did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps ; which, your ma- jesty knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the ser\'ice ; and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. JC. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour : For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that : Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too ! K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's country man, I care not who know it ; I will confess it to all the 'orld ; I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be God, so long as your majesty is an honest man. K. Hen. God keep me so ! — Our heralds go with him • KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENK VIII. Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither. [^Points to Will. Exeunt Mont, and Others. Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. K. Ken. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap ? Will. An 't please your majesty, 't is the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. K. Hen. An Englishman ? Will. An 't please your majesty, a rascal, that swaggered with me last night: who, if 'a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' the ear : or, if I can see my glove in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. K. Ren. What think you, captain Fluellen ? is it fit this soldier keep his oath ? Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an 't please your majesty, in my conscience. K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is ne- cessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath : if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack- sauce, as ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and his earth, in my conscience la. K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou' meet'st the fellow. Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. Flu. Gower is a goot captain ; and is good knowledge and literature in the wars, K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. Will. I will, my liege. \Exit. K. Hen. Here, Fluellen : wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in thy cap : When Alenpon and myself were down together, I plucked this glove from his helm : if any man challenge this, he is a fi-iend to Alen9on and an enemy to our person ; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost love me. Flu. You grace does me as great honours, as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects : I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but I would fain see it once ; an please Got of his grace, that I might see it. K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ? Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 107 K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring hira to my tent. Flu. I will fetch him. \Exit.. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, — and my brother Gloster, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels : The glove, which I have given him for a favour, May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear ; It is the soldier's ; I, by bargain, should Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin War- wick: If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; For I do know Fluellen valiant, And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly will return an injury : Follow, and see there be no harm between them. — Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. \Exeunt. SCENE NIW.— Before King Henry's Pavilion. Enter Gower and Williams. Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. Enter Fluellen Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I pe- seech you now, come apace to the king : there is. more goot toward you, peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of. Will. Sir, know you this glove ? Flu. Know the glove ? I know, the glove is a glove. Will. I know this ; and thus T challenge it. [Strikes him. Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any 's in the universal 'orld, or in France, or in England. Gow. How now, sir ? you villain ! Will. Do you think I '11 be forsworn ? Flu. Stand away, captain Gower ; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. Will. I am no traitor. Flu. That 's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you in his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he 's a friend of the duke Alengon's. Enter Warwick ana Gloster. War. How now, how now I what 's the matter ? Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is his majesty. 849 ACT IV. KING HENR^ THE FIFTH. SCENK VIII. Enter King Henry and Exeter. K. Hen. How now, what 's the matter ? Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, lliat, look your grace, has struck the glove which y our majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencjon. Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the fellow of it : and he, that I gave it to in change, promised to wear it in his cap ; I promised to strike him, if he did : I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. Flu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your ma- jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beg- garly, lousy knave it is : I hope, your majesty is pear me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of Alenijon, that your ma- jesty is give me, in your conscience now. K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : Look, here is the fellow of it. 'T was I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the orld. K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart: never came any from mine, that might offend your majesty. K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man ; wit- ness the night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault, and not mine : for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow : And wear it for an honour in thy cap. Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : — And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. Will. I will none of your money. Flu It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it 850 will serve you to mend your shoes : Come, where- fore should you be so pashful ; your shoes is not so goot : 't is a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. Enter an English Herald. K. Hen. Now, herald : are the dead number'd ? Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. [Delivers a Paper. K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle ? E^. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt : Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead One hundred twenty-six : added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; The rest are — princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires. And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead, Charles De-la-Bret, high constable of France ; Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures ; Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dauphin ; John duke of Alenijon ; Antony duke of Brabant, The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; And Edward duke of Bar : of lusty earls, Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudeniont, and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship of death ! Where is the number of our English dead ? [Herald presents another Paper. Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffoik, Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire :''* None else of name ; and, of all other men, But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was hera, And not to us, but to thy arm alone. Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem. But in plain shock, and even play of battle. Was ever known so great and little loss, KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE I. On one part and on the other ! — Take it, God, For it is only thine ! ISxe. 'T is wonderful ! K. Hen. Ck)me, go we in procession to the village : And be it death proclaimed through our host. To boast of this, or take that praise from God, Which is his only. Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed ? K. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknow- ledgment, That God fought for us. Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ;"** Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum. The dead with charity enclos'd in clay. We '11 then to Calais ; and to England then ; Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. \Fzeunt. ACT Y. Enter Chorus. CJior. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, That I may prompt them : and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit the excuse Of time, of numbere, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the king Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen. Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, Athwart the sea : Behold, the English beach Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea. Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king. Seems to prepare his way : so let him land ; And, solemnly, see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought, that even now You may imagine him upon Blackheath : Where that his lords desire him, to have borne His bruised helmet, and his bended sword. Before him, through the city : he forbids it. Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent. Quite from himself, to God. But now behold. In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens ! The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, — Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in : As, bv a lower but by loving likelihood, Were now the general of our gracious empress" (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming. Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. How many would the peaceful city quit. To welcome him ? much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; (As yet the lamentation of the French Invites the king of England's stay at home : The emperor 's coming in behalf of France, To order peace between them ;) and omit All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd. Till Harry's back-return again to France ; There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd The interim, by remembering you — 't is past. Then brook abridgment ; and your eyes advance After your thoughts, straight back again to France. [Exit. SCENE I. — France. An English Court of Guard. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gow. Nay, that 's right ; but why wear you your leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past. Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things : I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower : The rascally, scald, beg- garly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, — which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow look you now, of no merits, — he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek : il 361 ACT V. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. was in a place where I could not breed no con- tentions with him ; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. Enter Pistol. Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a tur- key-cock. Flu. 'T is no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you scurvy, lousy knave. Got pless you ! Pist. Ha ! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appe- tites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. Flu. There is one goat for you. [^Strikes him^ Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ? Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is : I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals ; come, there is sauce for it. [^Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to : if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. Gow. Enough, captain ; you have astonish'd him. Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days : — Pite, I pray you ; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb. Pist. Must I bite ? Flu. Yes, certainly ; and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities. Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat, and eke I swear — Flu. Eat, I pray you : Will you have some more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek to swear by. Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 'pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them ; that is all. 8E2 Pist. Good. Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. Pist. Me a groat ! Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it ; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels ; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. \Fxit. Pist. All hell shall stir for this. Gow. Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, — begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, — and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words ? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gen- tleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and, henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well. \_Exit. Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now? News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital Of malady of France ; And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn, And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. To England will I steal, and there I '11 steal : And patches will I get unto these scars, And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. \Exit. SCENE II. — Troyes in Champagne. An A2)art- ment in the French King's Palace. ■ Enter, at one Door, King Henry, Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, Warwick, Wkstmoreland, and other Lords ; at another, the French King, Queen Isabel, the Princess Katharine, Lords. Ladies, dtc, the Duke of Burgundy, and hit Train. K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore wfi are net ! Unto our brother France, — and to our sister, Health and fair time of day : — joy and good wishes To our most fair and princeh cousin Katharine , I j ACT V. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE II. And (as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) We do salute you, duke of Burgundy : — And, princes French, and peers, health to you all 1 Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face. Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : — So are you, princes English, every one. Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting. As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French, that met them in their bent. The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. Have lost their quality ; and that this day Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. IT. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, Great kitigs of France and England ! That I have labour'd With all my wits, my pains, and strong en- deavours. To bring your most imperial majesties [Into this bar and royal interview. Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since then my oflSce hath so far prevail'd, That, face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me. If I demand, before this royal view, What rub, or what impediment, there is. Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace. Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births. Should not, in this best garden of the world. Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage ? Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd ; And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps. Corrupting in its own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleached, — Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair. Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts. That should deracinate such savagery : The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank. Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies. burs, Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildnes* ; Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time. The sciences that should become our country ; But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will. That nothing do but meditate on blood, — To swearing, and stern looks, diffus'd attire, And every thing that seems unnatural. Which to reduce into our former favour. You are assembled : and my speech entreats, That I may know the let, why gentle peace Should not expel these inconveniences. And bless us with her former qualities. K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would tha peace. Whose want gives growth to the imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peac« With full accord to all our just demands ; Whose tenors and particular eflfects You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which: as yet. There is no answer made. K. Hen. Well then, the peace, Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye O'er-glanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will, suddenly. Pass or accept, and peremptory answer. K. Hen. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter, — And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Glos- ter, — Warwick, — and Huntingdon, — go with the king : And take with you fre« power, to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best Shall see advantageable for our dignity, Any thing in, or out of, our demands ; And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them ; Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us ; She is our capital demand, compris d Within the fore-rank of our articles. Q. Isa. She hath good leave. \Fxeunt all but Hen., Kath., and her gentlewoman 858 ACT V. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair ! Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, Such as will enter at a lady's ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I can- not speak your England, K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate ? Kath. Pardonnez may, I cannot tell vat is — like me. K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate ; and you are like an angel. Kath. Que dit-il ? que je suis semblable a les anges ? Alice. Ouy, vrayment^ {sauf vostre grace) ainsi dit il. K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must not blush to affirm it. Kath. hon Dieu ! les langues des hommes sont plaines des tromperies. K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits ? Alice. Ouy ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits : dat is de princess. K. Hen. The princess is the better English- woman, r faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding : I am glad, thou can'st speak no better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, that thou would'st think, I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say — I love you : then, if you urge me further than to say — Do you in faith ? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain : How say you, lady? Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for the one, I have neither words nor meas- ure ; and for the other, I have no strength in Pleasure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. [f I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragg-ing be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her fa- vours, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off : but, before God, I can- not look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor 8A4 I have no cunning in protestation ; only down- right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun- burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye by thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier : If thou canst love me for this, take me : if not, to say to thee — that I shall die, is true ; but — for thy love, by the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- coined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places : for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, — they do always reason themselves out again. What ! a speaker is but a prater : a rhyme is but a b^illad. A good leg will fall ; a straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face will wither ; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and moon ; or, rather the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me : And take me, take a soldier ; take a soldier, take a king : And what sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France ? K. Hen. No ; it is not possible, you should love the enemy of France, Kate ; but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France ; for I love France so well, that I will not part with a village of it ; I will have it all mine : and, Kate, wheD France is mine, ai:d I am yours, then yours ip France, and you are tnine. Kath. I cannot toll vat is dat. K. Hen. No, Kaw { I will tell thee in French •, which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife aboui her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Qaand fay la possession de France, et quand vous avez l"- possession de moi, (let me see, what then ? 3aini D^npis be my speed 1) — done vostre est France, ei vcus estes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kaie, to conquei the kingdom, as to speak so much more French : I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Frangois que vous parlez, est meilleur q'te VAnglois lequel je parle. ACT V, KING HENRY THE FIFfH. SCENE n. K. Hen. No, 'faith, is 't not, Kate : but thy "peaking of ray tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much Eng- lish ? Canst thou love me ? Kath. I cannot tell. K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 1 '11 ask them. Con.-^, I know, thou lovest me : and at night when you come into your closet, you '11 question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know, Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, that you love with your heart : but, good Kate, mock me mercifully the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee c\ aelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, (as I have a saving faith with- in me, tells me, — thou shalt,) I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder : Shall not thou and I, be- tween Saint Dennis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople, and take the Turk by the beard? shall we not ? what sayest thou, my fair flower- de-luce ? Kath. I do not know dat. K. Hen. No ; 't is hereafter to know, but now to promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy ; and, for my English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon ires chere et divine deesse ? Kath. Your majesty \vQfausse French enough to deceive the most sage damoiselle dat is en France. K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French ! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by which honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of ray visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition ! he was thinking of civil wars when he got me ; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beautv, can do no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better : And therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress ; take me by the hand, and say — Harrv of England, I am thine : which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud — England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine ; ■who, though I speak it before his face, if he bo not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find tho best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music ; for thy voice is music, and thy English broken : therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English, Wilt thou have me ? Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere. K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall please him, Kate. Kath. Den it shall also content me. K. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I call you — my queen. Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur^ laissez, laissez : ma foy, je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre grandeur, en haisant la main d'une vostre indigv.e serviteure ; excusez moy, je vous supjAie, mon trea 23uissant seigneur. K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Kath. Les dames et damoiselles, pour estre bat- sees devant lour nopces, il n'est pas le coiitume dc France. K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she? Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les la- dies of France, — I cannot tell what is, baiser, en English. K. Hen. To kiss. Alice. Your majesty entendre better que moy. K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say? Alice. Oui, vrayment. K. Hen. 0, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-faults ; as I will do yours, for upholding tho nice feshion of your country, in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her^ You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues of the French council ; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes yom father. U(S6 ACT V. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE n. Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy, Bedford, Gloster, Exetre, Westmoreland, and other Fiench and English Lords. Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you our princess English ? K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cou- sin, how perfectly I love her ; and that is good Eng- lish. Bur. Is she not apt ? K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con- dition is not smooth ; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness. Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you would conjurS in her you must make a circle : if conjure up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked, and blind : Can you blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self ? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield ; as love IS blind, and enforces. Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they see not what they do. K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your oousin to consent to winking. Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if yeu will teach her to know my meaning: for maids, well summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes ; and then they will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on. K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a hot summer ; and so I will catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be Wind too. Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. K. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many a fair French city, for one fair French maid that stands in my way. Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspec- tively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they are all girdled with maider walls, that war hath never entered. K. Hen. Shall Kate "be my wife ? Fr. King. So please you. K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you talk of, may wait on her : so the maid that stood 866 in the way of my wish, shall show me the way tc my will. Fr. King. We have consented to all terms ol reason. K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England ? West. The king hath granted every article • His daughter, first ; and then, in sequel, all. According to their firm proposed natures. i Fxe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : — Where your majesty demands, — That the king ol France, having any occasion to write formatter of grant, shall name your highness in this form, and with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cher filz Henry roy d^Angleterre, heretier de France ; and thus in Latin, — Prceclarissimus filius noster Hen- ricus, rex Anglice, et hceres Francice. Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied. But your request shall make me let it pass. K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear alliance, Let that one article rank with the rest : And, thereupon, give me your daughter. Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from her blood raise up Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms Of France and England, whose very shores look pale With envy of each other's happiness. May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. All. Amen ! K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me witness all. That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish. Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! As man and wife, being two, are one in love. So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal. That never may ill office, or fell jealousy. Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporate league ; That Enghsh may as French, French Englishmen, Receive each other ! — God speak this amen ! All. Amen ! K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : — on which day. My lord of Burgundy, we '11 take your oath, And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. — ACT V. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. RCBNK n. Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; And may your oaths well kept and prosp'rous be ! \Exeunt. Enter Chorus. Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen, Our bending author hath pursued the story ; In little room confining mighty men. Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd 108 This star of England : fortune made his sword By which the world's best garden he achiev'd. And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king Of France and England, did this king succeed ; Whose state so many had the managing. That they lost France, and made his England bleed : Which oft our stage hath shown ; and, for their sake, In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit Sfl NOTES TO KIICt HEIRY THE FIFTH. » On yov/t' imaginary forces worh. Imaginary is used for imaginative. 2 My lord, I HI tell you, — thai self bill is urg^d. The archbishop refers to a bill which was proposed by tlie commons, when applied to by Henry IV., to grant pupplies. It enacted that the king should be authorized to seize all the temporalities of the church, and employ them as a perpetual fund for the service of the state. They estimated the ecclesiastical revenues at 485,000 marks a-year, and as being derived from 18,400 ploughs of laud. They proposed to divide this property among fifteen new earls, 1,500 knights, 6,000 esquires, and 100 hospitals ; which still left a surplus of £20,000 a-year, which the king might apply to his own purposes. The clerical functions they said would be better performed by 15,000 parish (>riests with a salary each of seven marks a-year. The clergy were greatly alarmed at this proposed aggression, and made an appeal to the king, who thought it prudent to discountenance the scheme, and repre'iend the pro- jectors of it. « Oregcive, i. e., constantly Increasing. < They know your grace Jiath cause, and means, and mighty So hath your highness. Tlie meaning of this passage is rendered clear by placing itn emphasis on the last hath; i. e., 'your highness hath ii'.deed what they think and knoT you to have.' * They of those marches, Tiie marches are the borders, the limits or confines. Hence the Lords Marchers, i. e., the lords presidents of the inarches. « Doth Tceep in one concent. Consent is connected harmony in general, and not con- uned to any specific consonance. That 'ill the courts of France will be disturbed with chaces, A oluice at tennis is that spot where a ball falls, beyond .v'liicli the adversary must strike his ball to gain a point or chace. The king probably quibbles on the word, its secondary meaning being that he will play such a game in Frimco that the whole country will be disturbed by the Qight and chasing of armies. 868 * We nei)er valued this poor seat of England, The seat is the throne ; we never, says the prince, as- pired to royal state and honours, and therefore lived from the court in " barbarous license ;" but since this honour has fallen on me, I will act like a king. " Hath turn'd his balls to gunr-stones. When ordnance was first used, they discharged balls> not of iron, but of stone. So Holinshed — " About seaven of the clocke marched forward the light pieces of ordnance, with ston^ and powder." 1" While we force a play. To force a play, is to produce a play by bringing many incidents into a narrow compass. Hea ing events closely together. " We ''II not offend one stomach. You shall pass the sea in imagination only, therefore your stomachs will be undisturbed by the qualms of sea- sickness. " We HI be all three sworn brothers to France. That is, in France, nion as brothers. In France they will live in commu- " Will you shog of? A cant phrase, meaning will you go. In Beaumont ana Fletcher's Coxcomb — Come, pr'ythee, let us shxig off. '* lam not Barbason ; you cannot conjure me. Barbason is the name of a demon mentioned in Ths Merry Wives of Windsor. See note 110 to that play. The high-sounding nonsense of Pistol's speech reminds Nym of the obscure and extravagant language of conjurers. '» And on his more advice we pardon him. More advice is better reflection on his return to reason. >' Who are the late commissioners F This is a loose sentence, but the sequel shows the moan- ing to be, who are the persons lately appointed commis- sioners. " He might return to vasty Tartar. That is, Tartarus, the fabled place of future puui:;l;morit , NOTES TO KING HENRY THE FIFTH. " M parted even just between twelve and one, e^en at turning o' the tide. It is a very old superstition, and is at this day com- mon iu some seaport towus and villages near the coast, that dying people usually breathe their last at the ebb of the tide. » But then he was rheumatic. Shakespeare sometimes uses this word for peevish or snlenetic, but Mrs. Quickley doubtless means lunatic. so Which of a weak and niggardly projection. We should, I think, read oft fpr of; the sense would then be clear. Projection is used as preparation. "' The rivage, i, e., the bank or shore. " Overhand and jutty his confotmded haae. To d'erhind and jutty is to overhang and jut out from ; the rock is described as projecting into the sea ; his con- founded ba«e is his worn or wasted base. ^ I have not a case of lives. That is, a pair of lives ; as we say a case of pistols, a i>race or pair. M Ikne.c, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals. That is, put up with insults. See note 2, to Borneo and Julie' " Is dighi nimself four yards under the counter- mines. Fluellen means that the enemy had dug counter-mines four yards under the mines. 2' In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. A nook-shotten country is a country that shoots out pro- montories and necks of land into the sea. The coast-line of Eng'and is very irregular. " But keeps thepridge most valiantly. In Henry's return to Calais, after he had passed the river Some, the French endeavoured to intercept him by attempting to break down the only bridge there was over the deep and rapid river of Ternois. But Henry having notice of their design, sent a body of troops in advance, who drove away the French, and preserved the bridge till the whole of the army arrived and passed over it. ^» For he hath stolen apix, and hanged must 'a be. A pix is a small chest in which the consecrated host was kept. Hall says — " A foolish soldier stole a pix out of a church, and unreverently did eat the holy hostes within the same contained." 29 And what a beard of the generaVs cut. Our ancestors were very particular respecting the fash- ion of their beards, and a certain cut was appropriated to the soldier, the bishop, the judge, &c. The following ex- tract from an old ballad, inserted in a miscellany, entitled Le Prince d'' Amour, Svo, 1660, gives some curious infor- mation upon this subject : — Now of beards there bo Such a companie, Of fashions such a throng, That it is very hard To treat of the beard, Though it be ne'er so long. » * * * The steeletto beard, 0, it makes me afeard, It is so sharp beneath ; For he that doth place A dagger in his face. What wears he in his sheeth I * * » » The soldier's beard Doth match in tliis herd, In figuire like a spade ; With which he will make His enemies quake. To think their grave iR made, &c. '" Tou n le like a kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait trossers. Trcssers are a kind of breeches made to fit close to the body; it is said the kerns of Ireland wore no breeches, any more than the Scotch highlanders; therefore straxt trossers probably means in their naked skin, which sits close to them. In this sense the Dauphin evidently useu the word. 31 Do the low-rated English play at dice. That is, not play with them, but play at dice for them. " That tve should dress us fairly for our end. Dress, for address. That we should prepare our mmda for death, our souls for heaven. »3 Legerity, i. e., lightness, nimbleness. •* ''Mass, you ''Upay him then. That is, bring him to account, punish him ; though pay, in old language, usually meant to beat or thrash. «> The tucket-sonnanee. That is, an introductory flourish on the trumpet; hf speaks as in contempt of the easiness of the conquest. * The gimmal bit. Gimmal is, in the western counties, a ring ; a gimmal bit is, therefore, a bit of which the parts played one within another. G^mold or gimmaVd mail, means armour com- posed of links like those of a chain, which by its flexibility fitted better to the shape of the body than any other kind of defensive contrivance. 3' The feast of Orispian. The battle of Agincourt was fought upon the 25th of October, 1415, St. Crispin's day. The legend upon which this is founded is as follows : — " Crispinus and Crispianus were brethren born at Rome ; from whence they travelled to Soissons, in France, about the yoar 803, to propagate the Christian religion ; but because they would not be chargeable to others for their maintenance, they exercised the trade of shoemakers : but the governor of the towu discovering them to be Christians, ordered them to be be- headed. From wliich time the shoemakers made choice of them for their tutelar saints." se The Duke of Fork. This is the same person who appears in Richard the Seoond by the title of Duke of Aumerle. After a life of 869 NOTES TO KING HENRY THE FIPTH. intrigue, and having been in danger of losing his head on the Kcaffold, ho at length perishes on the field of battle. S9 Thou diest on point of fox. Fox is an old cant word for sword. Thus, in The DevWs aiutrter, 1607 :— And by this awful cross upon my blade. And by thisyba; which stinks of Pagan blood. «• For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat. The word rim has given rise to much conjecture ; War- burton would read, — Or, I will fetch thy ransome out of thy throat. But although this restores sense, it destroys the metre, and Shakespeare was not likely to have written so unmu- sical a line. Mr. Steevens says, — "It appears from Sir Arthur Gorge's translation of Lucan, 1614, that some part «fthe intestines was anciently called the rim. — Lucan, B. i. The slender rimme too weake to part The boyling liver from the heart. I believe it is now called the diaphragm, in human crea- tures, and the skirt or midriff in beasts ; but still, in some f laces, the rim." *i Is that a ton ofmoys f ilvy is a piece of money ; whence moi d'or, or moi of gold. S«0 <2 Than this roaring devil of the old play. The boy compares Pistol to the devil in the old morali- ties, because he is as noisy, turbulent, and vain-glorious. <3 Uavy Gam; esquire. This was a brave Welsh gentleman who saved the King's life on the field. Being sent by Henry before the battle to reconnoitre the enemy and attempt to discover their num- bers, he returned with this report : — May it please yoa, my liege, there are enough to be killed, enough to be taken prisoners, and enough to run away." ** Do we all holy rites. According to Holinshed, — The King, when he saw no appearance of enemies, caused the retreat to be blown, and gathering his army together, gave thanks to Almighty God for so happy a victory, causing his prelates and chap- eleins to sing this psalme. In, exitu Israel de Egypto; and commanding every man to kneele downe on the groundo, at this verse, Son nobis, domine, non nobis, sed nomini t/ut da gloriam; which done, he caused Te Deum and certain anthems to be sung, giving laud and praise to God, and not boasting of his own force, or any humaine power." « WeiN now the general of cur gracious emprett. The Earl of Essex, ir the rejgn of Elizobeth. ling liranj- tjie liitjj. (PART THE FIRST.) npHE question of the authorship of this play has been previously considered. Whoever was ita author, the earlier scenes of this drama are most artistically adapted to introduce the misrule and dark and bloody struggles of the turbulent reign of Henry. The iron hand of the hero of Agincourt being laid in the grave, and the enthusiastic patriotism, which was warmed into active existence by his gorgeous and triumphant career, having subsided into the calm stream of common life, the elements of discord break forth. The fierce contentions of Beaufort and Gloucester show the disordered state of the kingdom consequent upon the supremacy of a child, and are a natural prelude to the savage contests which afterwards took place under the name of the Wars of the Roses. Talbot is a boldly drawn character ; he resembles a grim armed giant, whose presence every- where causes terror and flight, yet he is thoroughly English in his nature — that is, he possesses all those qualities which were prominent in the most just and patriotic warriors of this country in the fifteenth century. Terrible to his enemies, fierce and savage in war, he is yet mild and genial to his asi'ociates, while on his tenderness as a father the great interest of his character depends. The scene between him and the Countess of Auvergne is an admirable episode, full of life and vigour, and writ- ten by the pen of genius ; if, according to the conjecture of Mr. Malone, either Greene or Peele was the author of this play, it is to be regretted that they have not left more such scenes for the admira- tion of posterity. The generosity of Talbot to the crafty but outwitted Frenchwoman, is the result of a noble spirit; a meaner general would probably have razed her castle to its foundations, or left it in flames, as a punishment for her perfidious abuse of the sacred laws of hospitality. The brave Talbot is at last sacrificed through the dissensions and treachery of York and Somer- set : each blames the other for neglect, but stands aloof himself; the intrepid general is surrounded without the walls of Bordeaux by forces immeasurably superior to his own, and, after performing prodigies of valour, is slain. Just before his death he has an interview with his son, whom after an absence of seven years he had sent for, to tutor in the strategies of war. The meeting is a melan- choly one; certain death awaits them both, unless avoided by flight — the elder Talbot, grown grey in peril and in honour, counsels his son to escape, but will himself remain to meet his fate ; the young hero will not stir from the side of his father, who eventually dies with the dead body of his son in his arras. In the scene in the Temple Garden, the great Earl of Warwick is introduced — that Warwick whose after achievements gained for him the title of the " King-maker," and although he does not appear so prominently in this play, as in the two following ones, yet here we have the germs of his future character, and a very spirited and Shakespearian speech is uttered by him. Somerset and riantagenet having disputed on some legal question, appeal to the Earl, who at first declines to side with either party, exclaiming, — Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch, Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth. Between two blades, which bears tiae better temper, Between two horscb, whicfi doth bear him best, Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, / 861 ! i I have, perhaps, some shallow epirit of judgment: But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Something of the princely and chivalrous earl, whose hospitality was as royal and boundless as his wealth, and who kept so many retainers, that sometimes six oxen were eaten by theru at a break- &st, is shadowed forth in this hearty and bounding speech. They who are conversant with the lan- guage of our poet, will need no argument to induce them to believe that it was the work of his pen. In this scene we have detailed the supposed origin of the two badges, the white rose and the red, afterwards worn by the rival houses of York and Lancaster. The character of Joan la Pucelle, though it has not the finish of Shakespeare's later works, yet partakes of their strength. It is only to be regretted that he has attributed to satanic agency what was doubtless the result of pure patriotism and vivid religious enthusiasm ; but the era of the poet was one of intense and obstinate superstition, when to express a disbelief in witchcraft was frequently deemed an act of impiety, and it is not to be expected that in his youth he should be emancipated from the errors of his time. But this unjust picture has given Schlegel occasion to say that " the wonderful saviour of her country, Joan of Arc, is portrayed by Shakespeare with an Englishman's prejudices." History has since done justice to her memory, and time has found the solution of her supposed miraculous influence. The inhabitants of the little hamlet where she was born were re- markable for their simplicity and their superstition ; and the poor peasant girl, whom a pious educa- tion had ripened into a religious enthusiast, was led, while tending her flocks in solitude among the hills and pastures of a wild and picturesque country, to occupy herself with day-dreams concerning the ascetic and miraculous lives of the saints, and the wonderful heroism of the virgin martyrs. This sort of life led to its natural result in a fervent and susceptible mind ; after a short time she was haunted by visions, and listened in ecstasy to the voices of spirits ; angelic faces appeared to her sur- rounded by a halo of light and glory ; amongst them were St. Catherine and St. Margaret, wearing crowns which glittered with celestial jewels, and these heavenly visitants spoke to her in voices which were sweeter than the softest music. They commanded her to deliver her country, and told her that she would be endowed with strength from heaven. The devoted enthusiast went to the king, declared her mission, liberated France, and was finally, with a cruelty at which humanity recoils, burnt at the stake for sorcery. It is to be wished that Shakespeare had taken a more lofty and generous view of her character. The family of this unhappy woman was ennobled by the monarch to whom she had rendered such important services, but he made no effort whatever to rescue from the hands of the English a heroine "to whom the more generous superstition of the ancients would have erected altars." Viewed historically, there are some slight apologies to be made for the conduct of York in at- tempting to supplant Henry on the throne ; but in the drama he stands convicted of complicated treachery and constant perjury. The feeble but generous king restores him to his rank and estates, which had been forfeited by the treason of his father, who was beheaded for a plot to assassinate Henry the Fifth. He promises eternal gratitude and allegiance, exclaiming — And so thrive Eichard as thy foes may fall ! And as my duty springs, so perish they That grudge one thought against your majesty! Yet this ^ -jry man, perceiving the imbecility of Henry, casts an evil eye unto the crown, and eventually he iud his sons, after shedding the blood of nearly a hundred thousand Englishmen, ex- terminate the house of Lancaster, and place the sensual perjured Edward upon the throne. In the early part of the play the young king does not appear, and when he does, it is only to make a miserable exhibition of his weakness and vacillation of mind ; for, although contracted to another lady, he falls in love with Margaret merely from Suffolk's description of her personal charms, and thus becomes the dupe of that cunning courtier, who loves her himself The play ends abruptly with Henry's dispatching Suffolk to France to woo Margaret for him, and the wily emissary speeds ou his mission rejoicing in the probable success of his treachery. The date of this drama cannot be fixed with any degree of certainty, but it was probably one of the poet's earliest efforts. 862 PERSONS EEPEESENTED. King Henhy the Sixth. Appei r«,Act III. sc. 1; 8C.4. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 1; sc. 5. Duke of Gloucester, Uncle to the King, and Pro- ■ tector. Appears, Act I. sc, 1 ; sc. 8. Act III. bc. 1 ; sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 1 ; BC. 6. Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent of France. Appears. Act I. sc 1. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc 2. Act III. sc 2. Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, Oreat-uncle to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc 1. Act V. BC. 1 ; sc. 5. IIenry Beaufort, Great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, a7id afterwards Cardinal. App^arf, Act I. ec 1 ; sc. 8. Act III. sc 1. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 4. Richard Plantagenet, eldetit Son of Richard, late Earl of Cambridge ; afterwards Duke of York. Appears, Act II. sc. 4; so. 5. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc 3. Act V. 8c. 8 ; so. 4. Earl of Warwick. Appears Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc. 4. Act III. so. 1, IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 4. Earl of Salisbury. Appears, Act I. sc 4. Earl of SuffoIk. Appears, Act I. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. so. 1, V. sc. 1 ; sc. 5 ; Lord Talbot, afterxoards Earl of Shrewsbury. Appears,A{il I. sc 4 ; sc 5. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Act III. f c. 2 ; sc. 3 ; sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1 ; sc 2 j sc. 5 ; sc. 6 ; sc. 7. John Talbot, his Son. Appears, Act IV. sc. 5 ; sc 6 ; sc. 7. Edmund Mortimer, Earl o/" March. Two Officers of the Tower, his Keepers. Appear, Act II. sc. 5. Sir John Fastolfe. Appears, Act III. sc 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Sir William Lucy. Appears, Act IV. sc. 3 ; sc. 4 ; sc. 7. Sir William Glansdale. Sir Thomas Garqrave. Appear, Act I. sc 4. Mayor of London. Appears, Act I. sc 8. Act III. bc. 1. WooDviLLE, Lieutenant of the Tower. Appears, Acl I. ec. 8. Act -Aot Vernon, of the White Rose or York faction. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. bc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1. Basset, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction. Appears, Act III. sc. 4. Act IV. so. 1. Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France. Appears, Act I. sc. 2: sc 5; so. 6. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 2 ; so. 3. Act IV. so. 7. Act V. sc. 2 ; sc 4. Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples. Appears, Act I. sc 2 ; sc. 6. Act II. sc. 1. Act V. sc 3; sc. 4. DuKE OF Burgundy. Appears, Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act III. so. 2 ; sc. 8. Act IV BC. 7. Act V. BC. 2. Duke of Alenqon. Appears, Act I. so. 2 ; sc 6. Act II. sc 1. Act III. sc 2 sc. 8. Act IV. sc 7. Act V. bc. 2 ; sc. 4. Bastard of Orleans. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. so. 1. Act III. ec. 2 ; sc. S BC 7. Act V. so. 4. Governor of Paris. Appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Master Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. A^ear, Act I. sc. 4, r.ENERAL OF THE French Forces in Bordeavs, Appears, Act IV. sc. 2. A French Sergeant and Two Sentinels. Appear, Act II. sc. 1. A Porter. Appears, Aot II. sc. 2. An Old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. Appears, Act V. sc. 4. Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; afterward* married to King Henry. Appears, Act V. sc. 3. Countess of Auvergne. Appears, Aot II. so. 8. Joan la Pucelle, commonly called foan of Arc. Appears, Act I. so. 2; sc 5 ; sc. 6. Act II. sc. 1. Aot III. sc 2 ; sc. 8. Act IV. sc. 7. Act V. so. 8 ; sc 4. Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warder-i of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Mes- sengers, and several Attendants both of the English and French. SCENE, — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. 86S FIRST PART OF ling lenrq tlif.lixtfi. ACT I SCENE I.— Westminster Ahhey. Dead march. Corpse o/'King Henry the Fifth discovered, lying in state ; attended on hy the Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter; the Earl of Warwick,' the Bishop of Win- chester, Heralds, c&c. Bed. Hung be the heavens with black,'' yield day to night 1 Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have consented unto Henry's death !* Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long ! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. Glo. England ne'er had a king, until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command : His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams ; His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech : He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. IHxe. We mourn in black : Why mourn we not in blood ? Henry is dead, and never shall revive : Upon a wooden coflSn we attend ; And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What f shall we curse the planets of mishap, 864 That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, By magic verses have contriv'd his end ? Win. He was a king bless'd of the King ol kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgment day So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : The church's prayers made him so prosperous. Glo. The church ! Vhere is it ? Had not church- men pray'd. His thread of life had not so soon decay'd : None do you like but an effeminate prince. Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art pro- tector ; And lookest to command the prince, and realm. Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe. More than God, or religious churchmen, may. Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh ; And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes. Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest year minds in peace ! Let 's to the altar : — Heralds, wait on us : — Instead of gold, we '11 offer up our arms ; Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. — Posterity, await for wretched years. When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck ; Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears/ ACT I. FIRST PART OF KmG HENRY THE SIXTH. BCENB t And none but women left to wail the dead. — Henry the Fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! A far more glorious star thy soul will make, Than Julius Caesar, or bright* Enter a Messenger. Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all ! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture : Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Hen- ry's corse ? Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. Glo. Is Paris lost ? is Roiien yielded up ? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. Exe. How were they lost ? what treachery was us'd ? Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and money. Among the soldiers this is muttered, — That here you maintain several factions ; And, whilst afield should be despatch'd and fought. You are disputing of your generals. One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost; Another would fly swift but wanteth wings ; A third man thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility ! Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot : Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; Of England's coat one half is cut away. Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France : — Give me my steeled coat, I '11 fight for France. — Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes. To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter another Messenger. 2nd Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mischance, France is revolted from the English quite ; Except some petty towns of no import : The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims ; The bastard of Orleans wjth him is join'd ; Reignier, duke of Anjou, Joth take his part ; The duke of Alencon flieth to his side. Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him ! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemiee' throats : — Bedford, if thou be slack, I '11 fight it out. Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward- ness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts. Wherewith already France is over-run. Enter a third Messenger. 3rd Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your laments. Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, — I must inform you of a dismal fight, Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. Win. What ! wherein Talbot overcame ? is 't so f drd Mess. 0, no ; wherein lord Talbot was over- thrown : The circumstance I '11 tell you more at large. The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon : No leisure had he to enrank his men ; He wanted pikes to set before his archers ; Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges. They pitched in the ground confusedly. To keop the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued ; Where valiant Talbot, above human thought. Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst staii^l him ; Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew : The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arras ; All the whole army stood agaz'd on him : His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit. A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain, And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seul'd up, If sir John Fastolfe^ had not play'd the coward . He being in the vaward, (plac'd behind. With purpose to relieve and follow them,) Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre : Enclosed were they with their enemies : A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 865 ▲OT I. FIRST PART OF RCBNE II. Tlirust Talbot with a spear into the back ; Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, Durst not presume to look once in the face. Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself, VoT living idly here, in pomp and ease. Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd. Srd Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford : Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay : I '11 hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne, His crown shall bo the ransom of my friend ; Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours. — Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal : Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take. Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Srd Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is be- • sieg'd; The English army is grown weak and faint : The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny. Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. JKre. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn ; Either to quell the Dauphin utterly. Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. Bed. I do remember it ; and here take leave. To go about my preparation. [^Exit. Olo. I '11 to the Tower, with all the haste I can. To view. the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit. Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is. Being ordain'd his special governor ; And for his safety there I '11 best devise. \Exit. Win. Each hath his place and function to at- tend : I am left out ; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack-out-of-ofl5ce ; The king from Eltham I intend to send, And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. \Exit. Scene closes. SCENE II.— -France. Be/ore Orleans. Enttr Charles, with his Forces ; Alen^on, Reionier, and Others. Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, 86G So in the earth, to this day is not known : Late did he shine upon the English side ; Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment, but we have ? At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ; Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. Alen. They want their porridge, and their Cat bull-beeves : Either they must be dieted like mules, And have their provender tied to their mouths. Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. Heiff. Let 's raise the siege : Why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury ; And he may well in fretting spend his gall. Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. Char. Sound, sound alarum ; we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French : — Him I forgive my death, that killeth me. When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exetmt. Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Charles, Alenjon, Reignier, and Others. Char. Who ever saw the like ? what men have I?— Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food. Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,^ During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified ; For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity ? Char. Let 's leave this town ; for they are hJli^ brain'd slaves. And hunger will enforce them to be more eager : Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth The walls they '11 tear down, than forsake the siege, Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals, or devic»> Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do ACT 1 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCBNB n. By my consent, we '11 e'en let them alone. Alen. Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans. Bast. Where 's the prince Dauphin, I have news for him. Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to iis.^ Bast. Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd ; Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand : A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven. Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome f What 'a past, and what 's to come, she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. Char. Go, call her in : [Exit Bast.] But, first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern : — By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. [Retires. Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and Others. Reig. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these won- d'rous feats ? Puc. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to be- guile me ? — Where is the Dauphin ? — come, come from behind ; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amaz'd, there 's nothing hid from me : In private will I talk with thee apart ; — Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while. Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter. My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd To shine on my contemptible estate : Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me ; And, in a vision full of majesty, Will'd mc to leave ray base vocation, And free my country from calamity : Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success : In complete glory she reveal'd herself: And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infus'd on me. That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated : My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this : Thou shalt be fortunate. If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy higlr terras ; Only this proof I '11 of thy valour make, — In single combat thou shalt buckle with me; And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true ; Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. Puc. I am prepar'd : here is my keen-edg*d sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard. Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. Char. Then come o' God's name, I fear no woman. P?e Damascus, be thou cursed Cain," To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. Glo. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive thee back : Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth I 'II use, to carry thee out of this place. Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thy face. ACT I. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENK IV. Glo. "What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face ? Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard ; [Glo. and his Men attack the Bishop. [ mean to tug it, and to cufF you soundly : Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat ; In spite of Pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I '11 drag thee up and down. Win. Gloster, thou 'It answer this before the Pope. Glo. Winchester goose, I cry — a rope ! a rope ! — Now beat them hence. Why do you let them stay ! — Thee I '11 chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. — Out, tawny coats ! — out, scarlet hypocrite ! Here a great Tumult. In the midst of it. Enter the Mayor of London, and Officers. May. Fye, lords ! that you, being supreme ma- gistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! Olo. Peace, mayor ; thou know'st little of my wrongs ; Here 's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king. Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. Win. Here 's Gloster too, a foe to citizens ; One that still motions war, and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines ; That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm ; And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. Olo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows. l^Here they skirmish again. May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife, But to make open proclamation : — Come, officer ; as loud as e'er thou canst. Off. " All manner of men, assembled here in arms this day, against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places ; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, ©r dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death." Glo. Cardinal, I '11 be no breaker of the law- : But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. Win. Gloster, we '11 meet ; to thy dear cost, be sure : Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work. May I '11 call for clubs, if you will not away : — This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. Glo. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what thou may'st. Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ; For I intend to have it, ere long." [^Exeunt. May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. — Good God ! that nobles should such stomachs bear ! I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— France. Before Orleans. Enter, on the Walls, the Master Gunner and his Son. M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is beSieg'd ; And how the English have the suburbs won. Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim. M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me : Chief masterTgunner am I of this town ; Something I must do, to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me. How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars * In yonder tower^ to overpeer the city ; And thence discover, how, with most advantage, They may vex us, with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; And fully even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, For I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care; I '11 never trouble you, if I may spy them. Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glans- DALE, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Others. Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ! How wert thou handled, being prisoner ? Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd ? Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far, 869 ACT I. FIRST PART OF SCSKB V. Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me : Which I, disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death Rather than I would be so pil'd esteem'd.'^ Tn fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. T3nt, ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart ! Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If T now had him brought into my power. Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert enter- tain'd. Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produc'd they me, To be a public spectacle to all ; Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scare-crow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the oflBcers that led me; And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly ; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they dl^m'd me not secure ; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread. That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel. And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had. That walk'd about me every minute-while ; And if I did but stir out of my bed. Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you en- dur'd ; But we will be reveng'd suflSciently. Now it is supper-time in Orleans : Here, thorough this grate, I count each one. And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ; Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee. — Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions, Where is best place to make our battery next. Oar. I think, at the north gate ; for there stand lords. Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, ^r with light skirmishes enfeebled. [Shot from the Town. QA.h.and Gar. fall. Sal. Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners ! Gar. Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man ! Tal. What chance is this, that Suddenly hath cross'd us ? — Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak ; How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men ? 870 One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! — Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand. That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy ! In thirteen battles Salisbui'y o'ercame ; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars ; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. — Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury ? though thy speech doth fail. One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : The sun with one eye viewetli all the world. — Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, \ If Salisbury wants mercy a*t thy hands ! — Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. Salisbuiy, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; Thou shalt not die, whiles He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me ; As who should say, " When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French. — " Plantagenet, I will; and Nero-like, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Thunder heard ; afterwards an Alarum. What stir is this ? What tumult 's in the heavens ? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ? JEnter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head : The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — A holy prophetess, new risen up, — Is come with a great power to raise the siege. [Sal. groans. Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd. — Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you : — Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. — Convey me Salisbury into his tent. And then we '11 try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. [Exeunt, hearing out the Bodies. SCENE Y.— The Same. Before one of the Gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him in : then enter Joan LA Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot. ACT I. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE VI. I'al. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force ? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. Enter La Pucklle. Here, here she comes : 1 '11 have a bout with thee; Devil, or devil's dam, I '11 conjure thee : Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, '^ And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. Puc. Come, come, 't is only I that must dis- grace thee. [ They Jigh t. Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? My breast I '11 burst with straining of my courage. And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come : I must go victual Orleans forthwith. O'ertake me, if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men ; Help Salisbury lo make his testament : This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Puc. enters the Town, with Soldiers. Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel ; I know not where I am, nor what I do : A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists : So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench. Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. \A short Alarum. Harkj countrymen ! either renew the fight. Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lion's stead : Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf. Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. \Alarum. Another skirmish. It will not be : — Retire into your trenches : You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. — Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us, or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. \Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Tal. and his Forces, etc SCENE YL— The Same. Enter on the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reig- NiER, ALENfON, and Soldiers. Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls ; Rescu'd is Orleans from the Englisli wolves : Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. Char. Divinest creature, bright Astreea's daugh- ter, How shall I honour tliee for this success ? Thy promises^re like Adonis' gardens, That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next. — France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! — Recover'd is the town of Orleans : More blessed hap did ne'er befal our state. Beig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the town ? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires. And feast and'banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. Alen. All Franco will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. Char. 'T is Joan, not we, by whom the day is won ; For which, I will divide my crown with her : And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I '11 rear, Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was :*" In memory of her, when she is dead. Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius,^' Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry. But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in ; and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt 871 ACT n. FIRST PART OF SOENB I. ACT II SCENE I— The Same. Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and Two Sentinels. Serff. Sirs, take your piaces, and be vigilant : If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, Near to the walls, by some apparent sign, Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. l5i >Seft^ Sergeant, you shall. [JSxitSerg.'] Thus are poor servitors (When others sleep upon their quie| beds,) Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. ^nter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, with scaling Ladders ; their Drums beating a dead March. Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, — By whose approach, the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends t6 us, — This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous'd and banqueted : Embrace we then this opportunity ; As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. Bed. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs his fame. Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches, and the help of hell. Bur. Traitors have never other company. — But what 's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? Tal. A maid, they say. Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long; If underneath the standard of the French, She carry armour, as she hath begun. Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits : God is our fortress ; in whose conquering name, Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess, Thai we do make our entrance several ways ; That, if it chance the one of us do fail. The other yet may rise against their force. 872 Bed. Agreed ; I '11 to yon comer. Bur. And I to thia Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. — Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. [The English scale the Walls, crying St. George ! A Talbot ! and all enter by the Town. Sent. [Within.^ Arm, arm 1 the enemy doth make assault ! The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. Unter, several ways, Bastard, Alenjon, Reig- NiER, half ready, and half unready. Alen. How now, my lords ? what, all unready so? Bast. Unready ? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. Reig. 'T was time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds. Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms. Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous, or desperate than this. Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. Alen. Here cometh Charles ; I marvel, how he sped. Enter Charles and L\ Pucelle. Bast. Tut ! holy Joan was his defensive guard. Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame ? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal. Make us partakers of a little gain. That now our loss might be ten* times so much ? Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend ? At all times will you have my power alike ? Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail. Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ? — Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could liave fall'n. Char. Duke of Alen conduct me, where from company, I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Uxit. Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. [Exeunt Glo. and Exe. Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus he goes, As did the youthful Paris once to Greece ; With hope to find the like event in love. But prosper better than the Trojan did. Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king • But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. NOTES TO KING HEIM THE SIXTH. (PART THE FIRST.) • The Earl of Warwick, This nobleman is Eicliard Beauchamp, who is a charac- ter in Henry the Fifth. The earl who appears in the sub- sequent part of the play is Richard Nevil, the son of the Earl of Salisbury, who became possessed of the title in right of his wife, Anne, sjster of Henry Beauchamp, Duke of Warwick, on the death of Anne, his only child, in 1449. Thus the second earl is son-in-law to the first. Mr. Ritson says there is no reason to think that the author meant to confound the two characters. What the poet meant to do, it is difficult to decide; but he has certainly not given us to understand that two distinct persons are referred to by the title of Earl of Warwick. * Rung be the heavens with hlack. Wlien a tragedy was to be performed in our poet's time, t';ia otage was hung with black, to prepare the spectators for a solemn exhibition. The had revolting stars. Tliat have consented unto Henry's death. Consented, or more properly, concented, means, have dis- posed themselves into a malignant configuration, to pro- mote the death of Fenry. * Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears. Pope reads, a marish of salt tears ; marish being an old word for marsh or fen. » Tham, Julius Ccesar, or bright This imperfect line probably arose from the compositor being unable to read the word, and so leaving it blank, in which state, by a negligence not uncommon in those days, it was printed. Dr. Johnson suggests that it should have read, — or bright Berenice. If Sir John Fastolfe. This Sir John must not be confounded with Shakes- peare's fat and merry knight Falstaff. fastolfe was an historical character, mention of whom may be found both in Hall and Holinshed ; Falstatf was merely a creation of the poet's brain : though it is more than probabl* that the imputed cowardice of the former suggested to Shakes- peare the name of the latter. Sir John Fastolfe, though degraded for cowardice, was afterwards restored to hih knighthood, it being considered he was justified in his conduct. He is elsewhere described as a. wise and valiant captain. In the eighteenth song of iDrayton's Foh/olbion. he is thus alluded to: — ■ Strong Fastolph with this man compare we justly may By Salsbury who oft being seriously imploy'd In many a brave attempt the general foe annoy'd ; With excellent successe in Main and Anjou fought, And many a bulwark there into our keeping brought, And chosen to go forth with Vadaraont in warre, Most resolutely tooke proud Renate. duke of Bafrt. ' England all Olivers and Rowlands bred. That is, England bred nothing but heroes ; Oliver and Rowland being two of the most famous of Charlemagne's twelve peers. » Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. In former times bastard was not a term of reproach ; one of William the Conqueror's charters begins thus,— '■'■Ego Grulielmus cognomento Bastardus.'''' Tlie ancients also held illegitimate children in no disrepute ; they would not brand the son for the error of the father. » Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Koine. This is an error : he means the nine books of oracles which a sibyl brought and offered for a large sum to ona of the Tarquins. 10 Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? This extraordinary enthusiast or impostor had a dove which used at times to alight on his shoulder and put its bill in his ear, and the "prophet" persuaded the deluded people tb.at it was the Holy Ghost, who in that form gave him advice. Others have said that he placed peas or wheat in his ear, and that the bird, when hungry, went there for a meal. " Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were lihe thee. The daughters of Philip the Evangelist, mentioned iu 899 NOTES TO THE FIRST PART OF Acts xxi., V. 9. — " And the same man had four daughters, virgins, which did prophesy." " Sin. '4 Henry's death, J fear there is conveyance. Oonveyance, is theft ; Gloucester doubts the honesty and fidelity of tlie governor. . Poeled, " PieVd priest. PiefM was an ancient mode of spelling alluding to his shaven crown. »« Thou that giv'st whores indulgiences to sin. Brothels were anciently under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester ; hence a strumpet was called a Win- chester goose. 1* I'll canvas th^e in thy broad cardinaVs hat. Mr. Steevens thinks that this means — I '11 tumble thee into thy great hat, and shake thee, as bran and meal are shaken in a sieve. Gloucester, however, may mean that he will toss the priest in a sheet, even while he was invested with the peculiar badge of his ecclesiasti- cal dignity. Coarse sheets were formerly termed canvas sheets. It should be observed that Winchester is not yet a cardinal ; he does not appear as a cardinal until the fifth act of the play. •• This he Damascus, he thou cursed Gain. About four miles from Damascus is a lofty hill which a tradition avers to be the same on which Cain slew his brother Abel. Thus, in Sir John Maundeville's Travels : " And in that place where Damascus was founded, Kaym sloughe Ahel his brother." •^ For I intend to have it, ere long. This is a hard and unmusical line ; the metre would be rendered perfect by reading, — yet ere long. >* Sopii'd esteemed. This phrase has no discernible meaning ; some have conjectured that the autlior wrote vile-estesmed, and Mr. Steevens thinks it probable that we should read — so Fhilistin'd, i. e. treated with scorn and degradation, as Sampson was by the Philistines. " Blood will I draw on thee, tliou art a witch. Tt was a superstition of the poet's time that he who 90uld shed the blood of a witch was free from her power. " Tham> Rhodope's, or Memphis'', ever was. Ehodope was a celebrated courtezan who by her beauty and fascination acquired immense riches. She was born at Tlirace, and was a slave in the same house, with ./Esop the famous fabulist. The brother of Sappho having fallen in love with her, purcha.sed her freedom at a great price. She is said afterwards to have married Psammetichus, king of Egypt, and the smallest but most finished of the pyramids was built by her. Allusion is made to her in the play of The Oostly IVh >re, 1GS3 :- - 900 • A base Jihodope, Whose body is as common as the sea In the receipt of every lustful spring. *» Tha?i the rich-jeweWd coffer of Darius. When Alexander the Great had taken Gaza, the me- tropolis of Syria, he found among the treasures of Darius contained in the city, a small chest or casket of trreat value and exquisite beauty of Avorkmanship. All the generals who were around him having expressed theii admiration of it, Alexander asked what they thought best fitted to be contained in it ? After each had delivered his opinion, the conqueror said that he esteemed nothing so worthy to be preserved in it as Homer's Iliad. Pliny tells us that this casket, when found, was full of precious oils, and was decorated with jewels of immense value. *" Then say at once, if I 'maintain' d the truth ; Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error ? This passage is confused ; if Plantagenet was right, of course Somerset was wrong ; we should read : — Or else was wrangling Somerset V tV right? Or,- And was not wrangling Somerset in the error ' " His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence. This statement is incorrect. Plantagenet's paternal grandfather was Edmund of Langley, duke of York. His maternal grandfather was Roger Mortimer, earl of March, who was the son of Phllippa, the daughter of Lionel, duke of Clarence. The duke was therefore his maternal ffrcat-irreat-tfrandfather. '< Enter Mortimer. Shakespeare has fallen into error by introducing Morti- mer dying in confinement in the Tower. Edmund Morti- mer. served under Henry the Fifth, revealed to that king the plot to assassinate him formed by Citmbridge, Scroop, and Grey, at Southampton, and followed the king in his expedition to France. At the coronation of Queen Kathe- rine he attended and held the sceptre. Soon after the ac- cession of Henry the Sixth, he was appointed chief gover- nor of Ireland, and he finally died there in his castle at Trim, in January, 1424-5. »* Depos'd his nephew Bichard. Bolingbroke was Eichard's cousin, not his nephew. In Shakespeare's time a nephew was sometimes called cousin ; but it does not appear that a cousin was ever called a nephew. J« Levied an army. This is another historical error. The earl of Cambridge did no such thing ; he entered into a plot to assassinate Henry the Fifth, as correctly described in Act ii., se. 2, of that play. The old play on which Shakespeare founded his Henry the Sixth, Part 1., contained these errors, and the poet negligently followed them. At that time he him- self might have known no better, as Henry the Fifth was written at a later period, and when the poet had be- i come familiar with the chronicles of Holinshed. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. *T Thou hastard of my grandfather. The bishop of Winchester was an illegitimate son of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, by Katherine Swyn- ford, yhom the duke afterwards married. '8 The hishop haih, a kindly gird. A kindly gird is probably a gentle rebuke. "Warwick means that the king had blamed the bishop with great gen- tleness. *» M) way to tluitfor weakness which she enter'' d. That is, no way equal to that ; no way so fit as that. "> That stout Fendragon, in his Utter. Pendragon was the fatlier of King Arthur, and esteemed a great hero. He caused himself to bo carried with his army in a litter when he was too ill to fight; and his presence so encouraged his soldiers that they won the victory. Holinshed, however, attributes this exploit to his brother Aurelius. 8' Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste t " I have no doubt," says Mr. Malone, " that it was the exaggerated representation of Sir John Fastolfe's coward- ice which the author of this play ha« given (i. e., the old play on which Shakespeare founded his) that induced Shakespeare to give the name of Falstaff to his knight. Sir John Fastolfe did indeed fly at the battle oi Patay, in the year 1429 ; and is reproached by Talbot in a subse- quent scene for liia conduct on that occasion ; but no his- torian has said that he fled i)efore Eouen." " Dies, and is carried off in his chair. The Duke of Bedford died at Rouen, but not in any ac- tion before the town. He was buried in the cathedral there. Mr. Hume says he was " a prince of great abilities, and of many virtues ; and whose memory, except from the barbarous execution of the Maid of Orleans, was un- sullied by any considerable blemish." He, however, is the Prince John, who, in the Second Part of Henry the Fourth, Act IV., so treacherously captures, and sends to the block, the Archbishop of York and the peers who were joined with him in his insurrection. ** Done like a Frenchman ; turn, and turn again. This satire on the inconstancy of the French was, no doubt, much enjoyed by English audiences of the poet's time ; but it appears very inconsistent to place it in the mouth of Joan, who would scarcely affront Burgundy to his face the moment she had won his alliance. Dr. John- son says — " I have read a dissertation written to prove that the index of the wind upon our steeples was made in the form of a cock, to ridicule the French for their fre- quent changes." 3* Ida remember how my father said. This play abounds in historical errors. Henry the Sixth had never seen his father, who was in France when he WAS born, where he remained until his death, when the young Henry was but nine months old. '' And I am lowted by a traitor villain. Lowted is baffled and insulted; treated like a lowt, oi low country fellow. '« Winged through the lither sly. Liiher is the comparative of the adjective litlie, i. e., flexi ble, pliant, yielding. '' A giglot wench. A giglot is a light and wantonly disposed woman, or a strumpet. S8 G-reat earl of Washford. Washford appears to be a corruption of WexforA. *» But from their ashes sliall be reared. The defect in the metro argues that some word has been omitted in the line ; probably honoured. " But from their honour'd ashes," &c. i» Immanity, i. e., barbarity, savageness. " Now help, ye charming spells, and periaptt. Periapts were amulets or charms carried about the per- son as preservatives against disease or mischief. Of these the first chapter of St. John's Gospel was considered the most efficacious. " Under the hrdly monarch of the north. " The monarch of the north," says Mr. Douce, " was Zimimar, one of the four principal devils invoked by witches. The others were Amaimon, king of the east ; Gorson, king of the south ; and Goap, king of the west. Under these devil kings were devil marquises, dukes, pre- lates, knights, presidents, and earls. They are all enu- merated in Scott's iJi-scoverie of Witchcraft.'''' <= Decrepit miser. Miser liere does not mean that he is avaricious, but if used in its obsolete sense of a v/retched mean person. ** Fie, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle. Obstacle is a corruption of obstinate. « Not me begotten of a shepherd swain Probably the poet wrote, not one, &c. *' Alen^on / that notorious Machiavel. MacAiavel is mentioned somewhat before this time ; but his character seems to have made so deep an impression on the dramatic writers of the Elizabethan age, that he is many times prematurely spoken of. *' Of my poison' d voice. Poisoned voice is not a very intelligible phrase. Pope rendu prisoned voice. York's voice was choked with paa- sion, prisoned in his throat. «8 Accept the title thou vsurp^st. Of benefit proceeding from our king. That is, accept the title of king of France, as a vassal and dependent upon the sovereign of England. 901 SECOND PART OF ling Imij tjir lixtji. XN perusing this play we seem to be walking among covered pitfalls: the snares (f treachery ar« spread in all directions; every noble is striving for supremacy, and each exclaiming on the am- bition of the rest. The drama forms a dark and terrible picture of the wickedness of courts ; for sophistry, perjury, and murder stain nearly every character ex(^pt the weak king and the " good duke Humphrey." We recoil in disgust from this diabolical exhibition of state-craft : these wily courtiers play for the crown of the feeble Henry with all the recklessness of ruined gamblers : they stake body and soul upon the cast, or rather play as if they had no souls to lose. The poet with all the ingenuity of youth, scourges hypocrisy with unsparing vehemence, treachery is made trans- parent, and the great struggle for self rendered obvious and disgusting : he tears aside the disguises of patriotism and religion, and shows us the human fiends concealed beneath them. This drama commences with the marriage of Henry, which took place in his twenty-fourtli year ; but the feebleness of infancy had not given way to the strength and vigour of manhood ; and the son of that determined prince, who was regarded by the people with affectionate awe, was a gentle, weak, spiritless, and superstitious man. As a village priest, he would have proved a valuable member of society ; happy would it have been for him and England had he been born to such a station ; but as a king who had to govern a powerful and insolent nobility, and a semi-barbarous people, his very virtues were his chief defects. In those times a strong bad man, so that he had judgment enough not to stretch his prerogative too far, made a better sovereign than a weak good man. Where much power attaches to the crown, a feeble king is worse than no king; for the powers of government are wielded by any hand that is bold enough to seize them, and strong enough to guide them. Thus with Henry — Gloucester, Beaufort, Suffolk, Somerset, York, and Warwick, each in turn influence and coerce this phantom of a king, "^he mind of the unfortunate monarch was worse than feeble, it was diseased : he was several times seized with an extraordinary apathy and imbecility, which rendered him unfit for the commonest duties of life, and unconscious of the presence or inquiries of his friends; but Shakespeare has not alluded to this mental defect in his portraiture of the unhappy king. Margaret of Anjou was selected by the cardinal and his compeers for Henry as a wife calcu- lated to rouse him into greater activity, and to impart to him some of the decision of character and strength of mind that she possessed. Added to great personal beauty and remarkable vivacity, she had a courageous temper and masculine intellect, and was regarded as the most accomplished woman of her age. Her pride and vind'"'"'veuess of temper she had not yet revealed; no royal state or adverse fortune had called them .ito activity. The young beauty had lived in comparative seclusion, adding accomplishments to natural graces ; and it was thought, with much probability, that when she shared the throne of Henry, she would increase its lustre, and elevate the character of its occu- pant. Had her husband possessed a sounder judgment, and a royalty of nature, she would doubt- lesf nave fulfilled these hopes respecting her ; but Margaret had no one whose influence could restrain in her those arbitrary doctrines which she had learnt in France, and attempted to apply in England, She was distinguished by a haughtiness greater than had hitherto been assumed by any of our native kings, and she sank into unpopularity and dislike. tf08 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH. Aft^r Henry, the Duke of Gloster is the most amiable character, indeed almost the only one not stained with treachery and crime ; but even he cannot refrain from constant and unseemly broils with the Cardinal Beaufort. The last surviving brother of Henry the Fifth, the duke was the idol of the people, and is painted by the poet as a wise and honest counsellor, lie was a great patron of literature in those days ; he gave a valuable library to the University of Oxford, and invited to Eng- land an Italian histonan named Titus Livius Forojuliensis, whom he appointed his poet and orator. The incident where his vain and ambitious duchess engages the assistance of necromancers to pro- phesy the death of the king is rendered more dramatic than natural ; in a play professing to treat of a comparatively modern period of history, satanic agency and the appearances of spirits are incon- sistent with the actual events enacted. The guilt of the duchess consisted in her search for super- natural aid ; and here perhaps Shakespeare, in his maturity, would have paused ; but in his youtli before he knew his own strength, and was content to rely entirely upon natural incidents for effect, ho omitted no opportunity of giving to his play the character of a spectacle, and crowding into it every circumstance likely to be attractive to an audience. The incidents in this drama are remarkably varied, and follow one another with great rapidity : there is no pause in the action ; the attention is never suffered to flag ; thus Hume, Bolingbroke, and Mother Jourdain, have no sooner been arrested for sorcery, than we are transported to St. Albans, and witness the mirth-moving miracle performed on the impostor Simpcox ; the humour here is admi- rable — we recognise the hand that in after days drew the inimitable Falstafi'. The characters of the whole group are well preserved in this scene ; the pious and simple Henry has faith in the sup- posed miracle, and bids the fellow ever devoutly to remember what the Lord has done for him ; but the more subtle courtiers doubt its authenticity, and question the knave, while Gloucester detects him by a very philosophical process. Had he been born blind, it would have been impossible for him to have distinguished colours immediately upon receiving his sight. Queen Margaret laugha at the discovery, but Henry mourns at the duplicity of man. We have next the trial by combat beween the armourer Horner and his 'prentice, Peter Thump. Duels of this character are of great antiquity, and in tliera the vanquished was considered to be the guilty party. Men of low condition were not permitted to fight with the sword or lance — these were honourable weapons, reserved for knights and nobles; therefore the common people in these trials fought with an ebon staff, at the end of which was fixed a bag crammed hard with sand, which made a more formidable weapon than might at first be conceived, and one with which a ])oweiful man might easily strike his opponent dead. With this instrument the timorous Peter kills his master, the latter having drank ro freely with his neighbours as to be incapable of defending himself. We are rr.;At led to tlic boJside of the chief murderer of the unhappy duke ; the great cardinal has been seized with a sudden sickness, — That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Henry approaches the dying wretch, who is perishing in the fearful recollection of his unrepented sins, and who, in his delirium, beholds the spirit of the murdered duke, whose sightless orbs are bent upon him, while his upright hair bespeaks liis dying agony. The cardinal is convulsed with the pangs of death, and becomes speechless, when the king conjures him to give some sign of a hope of salvation. The turbulent and once haughty priest dies and makes no sign. The mind is recalled from dwelling too seriously upon the terrible incidents just alluded to, by the introduction of Jack Cade and the Kentish rebels. Cade was not a native of Kent, but of Ire- land, and had spent some time in France, either as a soldier or an outlaw ; his great courage and hardihood admirably fitted him for the leader of a popular insurrection, and for some time he preserved great order among his rude followers, and punished them for theft or violence ; but the passions of an excited crowd are not to be long restrained, and they soon broke out into furious excesses. The insurrection of Cade and his followers, though extinguished, left the country in a state which eoi SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH. enabled a faw discontented nobles to plunge it into a savage civil war ; thousands of discontented and unemployed peasants were ready to flock to any standard, and to fight for any cause. If peace would yield them nothing, they were willing to try what war could do. The poet truly represents the tragic results of such a rising among a rude and barbarous people ; the murder of Lord Say is both affecting and horrible : he pleads for his life with a manly eloquence which would have won it from any but a people inured to acts of bloodshed. Cade, however, is distinguished from his fol- lowers by his great courage and consistency ; and we pity the poor starving wretch when he is slain by Iden the Kentish esquire. In the fifth act of this play, the storm which has been so long lowering at length breaks forth ; ambition throws aside its thin disguise ; the perfidious and ungrateful duke of York, forgetting that Henry has restored him to his honours and estates, defies his sovereign, and claims the crown. The banner of rebellion floats gaudily in the air, civil war commences in England, and the play terminates with the victory of York at St. Albans, and the flight of the Lancastrian party to London. This and the following drama Mr. Malone believes to have been produced in their present form in the year 1591. The poet was then in his twenty-ninth year, the year to which Mr. Drake assic^ns the production of Love's Labour 's Lost, certainly Sliakespeare's most feeble comedy. ''* ' 906 PEKSONS KEPEESENTED. King Henry the Sixth. Apj)ears,Act I. sc. 1 ; sc.3. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act III. sc. 1 ; BO. 2 ; sc. 3. Act IV. sc. 4 ; sc. 9. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Humphrey, Duke of Gloster, his Uncle. dppears. Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 3 ; sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1. Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, Great-Uncle to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Richard Plantagenet, Duke o/" York. Ap2)ears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3 ; sc.4 . Act H. sc. 2 ; so. 8. Act III. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Edward, Son to the Duke of York. A;ppearSy Act V. sc. 1, Richard, Son to the Duke of York. Appears, Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Duke of Somerset, of the King's Party. ippears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 9. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Duke of Suffolk, of the King's Parttj. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act III. sc. I ; Bc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Duke op Buckingham, of the King's Party. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 8 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. BC. 4; sc. 8 ; sc. 9. Act V. sc. 1. Lord Clifford, of the King's Party. Appears, Act IV. sc. 8 ; sc. 9. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Young Clifford, his Son. Appears, Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Earl of Salisbury, of the York Faction. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Act III. sc. 2 ; BC. 3. Act V. 60. 1 ; sc. 2. Earl of Warwick, his Son, also of the York Faction. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 2. Act III. sc. 2 ; so. 8. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 8. Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower. Appears, Act IV. sc. 5. Lord Say. Appears, Act IV. sc. 4; sc. 7. SiK Humphrey Stafford and his Brother. Appear, Act IV. sc. 2 ; sc. 3. Sir John Stanley. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. 906 A Sea Captain, Master, Master's Mate, ind Walter Whitmore. Appear, Act IV. sc. 1. Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk. Appear,--Act IV. sc. 1. Vaux. Appears, Act III. sc. 2, Hume, a Priest. Appears, Act I. so. 2 ; sc. 4. Act II. 63. 8. Southwell, a Priest. BoLiNGBROKE, a Conjurer, Appear, Act I. sc. 4. Act II. so. 8. A Spirit raised by them. Appears, Act I. sc. 4. Thomas Horner, an Armourer Peter, his Man. Appear, Act I. so. 3. Act II. sc. 8. Clerk of Chatham. Appears, Act IV. sc. 4. Mayor of St. Albans. Simpcox, an Impostor. Appear, Act II. sc. 1. Two Murderers. Appear, Act III. sc. 2. Jack Cade, a Rebel. Appears, Act IV. sc. 2 ; sc. 3 ; sc. 6 ; sc. 7 ; si.. 8 ; sc. 10. George Bevis, John Holland, Dick the Butcher Smith the Weaver, Michael, and other Foh lowers of Cade. Appear, Act IV. sc. 2 ; sc. 3 ; sc. 6 ; sc. 7 ; sc. 8. Alexander Iden, a. Kentish Gentleman. Appears, Act IV. sc. 10. Act V. sc. 1. Margaret, Queen to King Heuiy. Appiears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1 ; sc. 8. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 4 ; sc. 9. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Eleanor, Duchess o/" Gloster. Appears, Act I. sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 3 ; sc. 4. Margery Jourdain, a Witch. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. sc. 8. Wife to Simpcox. Appears, Act II. sc. 1. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Petitioners, Alder- men, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers ; Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, £ II. But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Uxit Sal. Q. Mar. Henry, let me plead for gentle Suf- folk! IC. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. No more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him, Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; But, when I swear, it is irrevocable : — If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found On any ground that I am ruler of. The world shall not be ransom for thy life. — Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee. [Exeunt K. Hen., War., Lords, &c. Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you! Heart's discontent, and sour affliction. Be playfellows to keep you company ! There 's two of you ; the devil make a third ! And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch 1 Hast thou not S2:»irit to curse thine enemies ? Suf. A plague upon them ! wlierefore should I curse them ? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,'* I would invent as bitter-searching terms. As eurst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver 'd strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate. As lean-fae'd Envy in her loathsome cave : My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words : Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : And even now my burden 'd heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink ! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings 1 Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss ; And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tor- ment'st thyself; And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, 980 Or like an overcharged gun, — recoil, — And turn thq force of them upon thyself, Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave ? Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a winter's night. Though standing naked on a mountain top. Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport. Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease. Gi-rj me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place. To wash away my w^oeful monuments. 0, could this kiss be printed in thy hand , [Kisses his hand, That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd foi thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 'T is but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by. As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, Adventure to be banished myself: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone. — 0, go not yet ! — Even thus two friends condemn'd Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished. Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 'T is not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; A wilderness is populous enough. So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world ; And where thou art not, desolation. I can no more : — Live thou to joy thy life ; Myself to joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. Enter Vaux. Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast ? what news, I pr'ythee ? Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death : For suddenly a grievous sickness took him. That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air. Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's gl^ust Were by his side ; sometime, he calls the kii;g, And whispers to his pillow, as to him. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 8CBNE m. The secrets of his overcharged soul : And I am sent to tell his majesty, That even now he cries aloud for him. Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [^Bxit Vaux. Ah ! me ! what is this world ? what news are these ? But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee. And with the southern clouds contend in tears ; Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sor- rows ? Now, get thee hence : The king, thou know'st, is coming ; If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live : And in thy sight to die, what were it else, But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? Here could I breathe my soul into the air. As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, Dying with mother's dug between its lips: Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; So should'st thou either turn my flying soul, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. To die by thee, were but to die in jest ; From thee to die, were torture more than death : O, let me stay, befall what may befall. Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk : Let me hear from thee ; For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, I '11 have an Iris that shall find thee out.*" Suf. I go. Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ; This way fall I to d^ath. Q. Mar. This way for me. [JExeunty severally. SCENE III— London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-chamber. Enter King Henrt, Salisbury, Warwick, a!nd Others. The Cardinal in bed ; Attendants with him. K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st death, I '11 give thee Eng- land's treasure," Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, When death's approach is seen so terrible ! War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? ! torture me no more, I will confess. — Alive again ? then show me where he is ; 1 '11 give a thousand pound to look upon him. — He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — Comb down his hair ; look ! look ! it stands up- right, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! — Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair ! War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea- sure be ! Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — He dies, and makes no sign: God, forgive him ! War. So bad a death argues a monstrous iife. K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinnei-s all.— Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains close ; And let us all to meditation. \Exeunt 931 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF SOSAS I. ACT lY. SCENE I.— Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. Wiring heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, and Others ; with them Suffolk, and other Gentlemen, prisoners. Cap. Tlie gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day \& crept into the bosom of the sea ; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night ; Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. — Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; — And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; — The other, [Pointing to Suf.,] Walter Whitmore, is thy share. 1st Gent. What is my ransom, master ? let me know. Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. Afate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. Cap. What, think you much to pay two thou- sand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — Cut both the villains' throats ; for die you shall ; Can lives of those which we have lost in fight, Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum ? 1st Gent. I '11 give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 2nd Gent. And so will I, and wnte home for it straight. JVhit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard. And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; [To Suf. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him live. Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. «3a WTiit. And so am I ; my name is — ^Waltei Whitmore. How now ? why start'st thou ? what, doth death afi'right ? Suf. Thy name aflfrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth. And told me that by " Water" I should die : Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; Thy name is — " Gualtier," being rightly sounded. Whit. " Gualtier," or " Walter," which it is, I care not ; Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name. But with our sword we wip'd away the blot ; Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge. Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd. And I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! [Lags hold on Suf. Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags ! Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; Jove sometime went disguis'd. And why not I ? Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup ? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule. And thought thee happy when I shook my head 1 How often hast thou waited at my cup. Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, When I have feasted with queen Margaret ? Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, And duly waited for ray coming forth ? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue, Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain i | ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave ! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side Strike off his head. Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Ca'p. Yes, Poole. Suf. Poole ? Cap. Poole? Sir Poole? lord? Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth. For swallowing the treasure of the realm : Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground ; And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death. Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again : And wedded be thou to the hags of hell. For daring to affy*^ a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king. Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great. And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France : The false revolting Normans, through thee. Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts. And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, — Whose dreadfu' swords were never drawn in vain, — As hating thee, are rising up in arms : And now the house of York — thrust from the crown, By shameful murder of a guiltless king, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, — Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine. Under the which is writ — Invitis nubibus. The commons here in Kent are up in arms : And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary. Is crept into the palace of our king. And all by thee : — Away ! convey him hence. Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! Small things make base men proud : this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. It is impossible, that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : I go of message from the queen to France ; I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Cap. Walter, Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. Suf Gelidus timor occupat artuts : — 't is thee I fear. WTiit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ? \st Cent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we should honour such as these With humble suit : no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any; Save to the God of heaven, and to my king ; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole. Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear : — More can I bear, than you dare execute. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot ! — Great men oft die by vile bezonians : A Roman sworder and banditto slave, Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand Stabb'd Julius Caesar ; savage islanders, Pompey the Great : and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit Suf. with Whit, and Others Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set. It is our pleasure, one of them depart : — Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [jExeunt all but the 1st Gent. He-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's Body. Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the queen his mistress bury it. [JSxii 1st Gent. barbarous and bloody spectacle ! His body will I bear unto the king : If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; So will the queen, that living held him dear. [JSxit, with the Body 933 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF SCBMK II. SCENE II.— Blackheatb. Enter George Bevis and John Holland. Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath ; they have been up these two days, John. They have the more need to sleep now then. Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. John. So he had need, for 't is threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up. Geo. miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in handycrafts-meu, John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good workmen. John. True : And yet it is said, — Labour in thy vocation : which is as much to say, as, — let the magistrates be labouring men ; and therefore should we be magistrates. Geo. Thou hast hit it : for there 's no better sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand. John. I see them ! I see them ! There 's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham : Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to make dog's leather of. John. And Dick the butcher, Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf, John. And Smith the weaver : Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. John. Come, come, let 's fall in with them. Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the Weaver, and Others in great number. Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our sup- posed father, Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. [Aside. Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes, — Command silence. Dick. Silence 1 Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick- ayer. [Aside. Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [Aside. «84 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, — Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces. [Aside. Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [Aside. Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable ; and there was he born, under a hedge ; for his father had never a house, but the cage. [Aside. Cade. Valiant I am. Smith. 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant [Aside. Cade. I am able to endure much. Dick. No question of that ; for I have seen hira whipped three market days together. [Aside. Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. [Aside. Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep, [Aside. Cade. Be brave then ; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be, in Eng- land, seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny : the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and I will make it felony, to drink small beer : all the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will be) All. God save your majesty ! Cade. I thank you, good people : — there shall be no money ; all shall eat and drink on my score ; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. Dick. The first thing we do, let 's kill all the lawyers. Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man ? Some say, the bee stings : but I say, 't is the bee's wax, for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was nevei mine own man since. How now ? who 's there ? Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and read, and cast accompt. Cade. O monstrous I Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. Cade. Here 's a villain 1 ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE n. Smith. H 'as a book lu his pocket, with red let- ters in 't. Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations," and write court-hand. Cade. I am sorry for 't : the man is a proper man, on mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die, — Come hither, sirrah, I must ex- amine thee : What is thy name ? Clerk. Emmanuel. Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ; — 'T will go hard with you. Cade. Let me alone : Dost thou use to write thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-deahng man ? Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up, that I can write my name. All. He hath confessed : away with him ; he 's a villain, and a traitor. Cade. Away with him, I say : hang him with bis pen and inkhorn about his neck. [Exeunt some with the Clerk. Enter Michael. Mich. Where 's our general ? Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the king's forces. Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I '11 fell thee down : He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself : He is but a knight, is 'a ? Mich. No. Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently: Rise up sir John Mortimer. Now have at him. Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William his Brother, with Drum and Forces. Staf. RebeUious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — The king is merciful, if you revolt. W. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood. If you go forward : therefore yield, or die. Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves,- 1 pass not;" It is to you, gooa people, that I speak. O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; For I am rightful heir unto the crown. Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; And thou thyself, a shearman, Art thou not ? Cade. And Adam was a gardener. W. Staf. And what of that ? Cade. Marry, this : — Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, Married the duke of Clarence' daughter : Did he not? Staf. Ay, sir. Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. W. Staf That 's false. Cade. Ay, there 's the question ; but, I say, 't is true: The elder of them, being put to nurse. Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ; And ignorant of his birth and parentage. Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : His son am I ; deny it, if you can. Dick. Nay, 't is too true ; therefore he shall be king. Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in ray father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; therefore, deny it not. Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words. That speaks he knows not what ? All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught you this. Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself \Aside!\ Go to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that — for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, — I am content he shall reign ; but I '11 be protector ovei him. Dick. And, furthermore, we '11 have the lord Say's head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is Eng- land maimed, and fain to go with a staft", but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that that lord Say hath gelded the com- monwealth, and made it an eunuch : and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. Staf. gross and miserable ignorance ! Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : The Frenchmen are our enemies : go to then, I ask but this : Can he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or no ? All. No, no ; and therefore we '11 have his head. W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail. Assail them with the array of the king. 935 ACT IT. SECOND PART OF SCENE la- IV. Staf. Herald, away : aud, throughout every town, Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade ; That those, which fly before the battle ends, May, even in their wives' and children's sight, Be hang'd up for example at their doors: — And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. [^Exeunt the Two Staffords and Forces. Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow me. — Now show yourselves men, 't is for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon ; For they are thrifty honest men, and such As would (but that they dare not,) take our parts. Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. l^JExeunt. SCENE 111.— Another Fart 0/ Blackheath. Alarums. The Two Farties enter, and fight, and both the Staffords are slain. Cade. Where 's Dick, the butcher of Ashford ? Dick. Here, sir. Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will I reward thee, — The Lent shall be as long again as it is ; and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one.** Dick. I desire no more. Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the victory will I bear ;"* and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do come to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us. Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let 's march towards London. \Exeunt. SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Falace. Enter King Henry, reading a Supplication; the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Say with him : at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over Sdtfolk's head." Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the mind. And makes it fearful and degenerate 886 Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep, and look on this ? Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast : But where 's the body that I should embrace? Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels' supplication ? K. Hen. I '11 send some holy bishop to entreat: For God forbid, so many simple souls Should perish by the sword ! And I myself. Rather than bloody war shall cut them short. Will parley with Jack Cade their general. — But stay, I '11 read it over once again. Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely face Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me ; And could it not enforce them to relent, That were unworthy to behold the same ? IC. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. K. Hen. How now, madam ? Still Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death ? I fear, my love, if that I had been dead. Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. Enter a Messenger. K. Hen. How now, what news ? why com'st thou in such haste ? Mess. The rebels are in Southwark : Fly, my lord! Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, Descended from the duke of Clarence' house ; And calls your grace usurper, openly, And vows to crown himself in Westminster. His army is a ragged multitude Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed ' All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen. They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death. K. Hen. graceless men ! they know not what they do. Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, Until a power be rais'd to put them down. Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Sutiblk now alive. These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitcrs hate thee. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTJi. SCENE V-VIX. Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. Sa]/. So might your grace's person be in danger ; The sight of me is odious in their eyes : And therefore in this city will I stay, And live alone as secret as I may. Enter another Messenger. 2nd Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London- bridge; the citizens Fly and forsake their houses : The rascal people, thirsting after prey. Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, l"o spoil the city, and your royal court. Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse. K. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will succour us. Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suflfolk is de- ceas'd. K. Hen. Farewell, my lord ; [To Say.] trust not the Kentish rebels Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd. Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence. And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. SCENE Y.—The Same. The Tower. Enter Lord Scales, and Others, on the Walls. Then enter certain Citizens, below. Scales. How now ? is Jack Cade slain ? 1st Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for they have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your honour from the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall com- mand ; But I am troubled here with them myself, The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head. And thither I will send you Matthew Gough : Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. SCENE YL—The Same. Cannon Street. Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes his Staff on London-stone. Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, that, of the city's cost, the pissing- ] one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy, us 937 conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. Enter a Soldier, running. Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. Smith. If this fellow be wise, he '11 never call you Jack Cade more : I think, he hath a very fair warning. Dick. My lord, there 's an ariny gathered toge- ther in Smithfield. Cade. Come then, let 's go fight with them : But, first, go and set London-bridge on fire ;°^ and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let 's away. [Exeunt. SCENE Yll.—The Same. Smithfield. Alarum. Enter, on one side, Cade and his Com- pany ; on the other, Citizens, and the King^s Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They fight ; the Citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough is slainP Cade. So, sirs : — Now go some and pull down the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down with them all. Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word. Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come out of your mouth. John. Mass, 't will be sore law then ; for he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 't is not whole yet. [Aside. Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside, Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth shall be the parliament of England. John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in common. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here 's the lord Say, which sold the towns in France ; he that made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens," and ACT IV. SECOND PART OF suKNfi vn. Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. — Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buck- ram lord I" now art thou within point blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even the presence of lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, in erecting a grammar- school : and whereas, before, our fore-fathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually talk of a noun, and a verb; and such abominable words, as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; and because they could not read, thou hast hanged them ;" when, indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth," dost thou not ? Say. What of that? Cade. Many, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets. Dick. And work in their shirt too ; as myself, for example, that am a butcher. Say. You men of Kent, Dick. What say you of Kent? Say. Nothing but this : 'T is bona terra, mala gens. Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he speaks Latin. Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ, Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle. Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ; Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. Justice with fiwour have I always done; Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. «S8 When have I aught exacted at your hands, Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you V Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, Because my book preferr'd me to the king : And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,— Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, You cannot but forbear to murder me. This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings For your behoof, Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the field ? Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I struck Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. Geo, monstrous coward ! what, to come be- hind folks ? Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good. Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will make 'em red again. Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the pap of a hatchet. Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ? Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, I '11 be even with you. I 'II see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no : Take him away, and behead him. Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most ? Have I affected wealth, or honour ? speak : Are my chests fiU'd up with extorted gold ? Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death ? These hands are free from guiltless blood-shed- ding, This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 0, let me live 1 Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words : but I '11 bridle it ; he shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for his life. Away with him ! he has a familiar imder his tongue ; he speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently ; and then bi-eak into his son in-law's house. Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither. All. It shall be done. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE vin. Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your prayers, God should be so obdurate as yourselves, How would it fare with your departed souls ? And therefore yet relent, and save my life. Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. \^Exeunt some, with Say. The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ; there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it : Men shall hold of me in capite ; and we charge and command, that their wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up commodities upon our bills ?" Cade. Marry, presently. All. brave ! Re-enter Rebels, with the heads of Lord Say and his Son-in-law. Cade. But is not this braver^ — Let them kiss one another, for they loved well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night : for with these borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride through the streets ; and, at every corner, have them kiss. — Away ! [^Exeunt. SCENE VKL— Southwark. Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rabble^nent, Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into Thames 1 — [A Parley sounded, then a Retreat.] What noise is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill? Enter Buckingham, and Old Clifford, with Forces. Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will dis- turb thee : Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king Unto the commons whom thou hast misled; And here pronounce free pardon to them all, That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. CUf. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye relent. And yield to mercy, whilst 't is oflfer'd you ; Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths ? Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty ! Who hateth him, and honours not his father, Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake. Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. All. God save the king ! God save the king ! Cade. What, Buckingham, and CliflPord, are ye so brave ? — And you, base peasants, do ye believe him ? will you needs be hanged with your par- dons about your necks? Hath my sword there- fore broke through London Gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart in Southwark ? I thought, you would never have given out these arms, till you had recovered your ancient freedom : but you are all recreants, and dastards ; and de- light to live in slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before your faces : For me, — I will make shift for one ; and so — God's curse 'light upon you all. All. We '11 follow Cade, we '11 follow Cade. CUf. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, That thus you do exclaim — you '11 go with him ? Will he conduct you through the heart of France, And make the meanest of you earls and dukes ? Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil. Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. Were 't not a shaine, that whilst you live at jar, The fearful French, whom you late vanquished. Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you ? Methinks already, in this civil broil, I see them lording it in London streets, Crying — Villageois ! unto all they meet. Better, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry. Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. To France, to France, and get what you have lost ; Spare England, for it is your native coast : Henry hath money, you are strong and manly ; God on our side, doubt not of victoiy. All. A Clifford ! a Clifford ! we '11 follow the king, and Cliftbrd. Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro, as this multitude ? the name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads together, to surprise me : my sword make way for me, for here is no staying. — In de- spite of the devils and hell, have through the very midst of you ! and heavens and honour be wit ness, that no want of resolution iu me, but only my followers' base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels. \Exit. 939 I ACT IV. SECOND PART OF SCENE IX- X. Buck. What, is he fled ? go some, and follow him ; And he, that brings his head unto the king, Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. — \Exeunt some of them. Follow me, soldiers ; we '11 devise a mean To reconcile vou all unto the kins. [Exeunt. SCENE IX.— Kenelworth Castle. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and Somerset, on the Terrace of the Castle. K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne, And could command no more content than I ? No sooner was I crept out of my cradle. But I was made a king, at nine months old '}^ Was never subject long'd to be a king, As I do long and wish to be a subject. Enter Buckingham and Clifford. Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your ma- jesty ! K. lien. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor. Cade, surpris'd ? Or is he but retir'd to make him strong ? Enter ^ below, a great number q/" Cade's Followers, with Halters about their Necks. Clif. He 's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield ; And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates. To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! — Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, And show'd how well you love your prince and country : Continue still in this so good a mind, And Henry, though he be infortunate. Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, I do dismiss you to your several countries. All. God save the king ! God save the king ! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised, The duke of York is newly come from Ireland : And with a puissant and a mighty power, Of Gallowgl asses, and stout Kernes, Is marching hitherward in proud array ; 940 And still proclaimeth, as he comes along. His arms are only to remove from thee The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade anu York distress'd ; Like to a ship, that, having scap'd a tempest, Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate; But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd ; And now is York in arms to second him. — I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him And ask him what 's the reason of these arms. Tell him, I '11 send duke Edmund to the Tower ; — And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither. Until his army be dismiss'd from him. Som. My lord, I '11 yield myself to prison willingly, Or unto death, to do my country good. K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough ir terms. For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal. As all things shall redound unto your good. K. Hen. Come, wife, let 's in, and learn to govern better ; For yet may England curee my wretched reign. [Exeunt. SCENE X.— Kent. Iden's Garden. Enter Cade. Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself ; that have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! These five days have I hid me in these woods ; and durst not peep out, for all the country is lay'd for ma; but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick- wall have I climbed into this garden ; to see if I can eat grass, or pick asallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I think, this word sallet was bom to do me good : for, many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill ;" and, many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart- pot to drink in ; and now the word sallet must serve me to feed on. Enter Iden, with Servants. Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court. And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? i A» ZFneath. That is, not easily. Eath is the ancient word for ease or easy. Thus, in Spenser's Fairy Queen, B. iv. c. 6 : — More eath was new impression to receive. " Caper upright, like a wild Morisco, Morisco is probably a term applied to any morris-dancer, though Dr. Johnson thinks it means a country fellow dressed as a Moor in these rustic dances. '8 Rear uf his body ; toring Aw/t by the nose. As neither Somerset nor the Oardinal speak again during this scene, and as nothing occurs to show that they con- tinue in the presence of their sovereign, we must presume that they take advantage of Plenry's fainting to slip away unnoticed. The next that we hear of the Cardinal is, that he is at the point of death. i» Would curses kiU, as doth the mandrake's groan. This line alludes to a superstition respecting the man- drake, which is thus related in BuUeiae's Jiulwarke of 948 Defence against Sickness, (&e., 1579: — "They do aflyrme that this herbe commeth of the seede of some convicted dead men ; and also without the death of some lyvinge thinge it cannot be drawen out of the earth to man's use Therefore they did tye some dogge or other lyvinge beast unto the roote thereof wyth a corde, and digged the earth in compasse round about, and in the meane tyme stoppe(f their own eares for feare of the terrible shriek and cry o1 this mandrack. In whych cry it doth not only dye itselfe, but the feare thereof kylleth the dogge or beast wliich pulleth it out of the earth." "0 1 HI have an Iris that shall find thee out. Iris was a messenj-er of the gods, but more particularly of Juno. She is identical with the rainbow, and is reijre- sented with wings possessing all its variegated and beauti- ful colours. She had also other offices, onr ?f which was to cut the thread which seemed to detain the soul in the body of those that were dying, and the other to t-upp) to't clouds with water, that they might refresh the earth. 21 If tJiou be'st death, I HI give thee England/ s treasw <&c. This passage was suggested by the following ac-oo. t ot the death of the cardinal in Hall's Chrvnic^x. . — " I)i:rirg these doynges, Henry Beaufford, byshop of Winclrp-te and called the riche Cardyiiall, departed out of this woride. This man was haut in stomach and hygh in countenance, ryche above measure of all men, and to fewe liberal; dis- duynful to his kynne, and dreadful to his lovers. Hi> covetous insaciable and hope of long lyfe made hym botliu to forget God, his prynce, and himselfo, in his latter dayes ; for Doctor John Baker, his pry vie counsailerand his chapel- layn, wrote, that lying on his death-bed, he said these words : — ' Why should I dye, having so muche riclies ? If the whole reahne would save my life, I am able either by pollicie to get it, or by ryches to bye it. Fye, v.fill not deatli be hyred, nor will money do uothynge ? When my nephew of Bedford died, I thought myselfe halfe up the whelo, but when I sawe myne other nephew of Gloucester dis- ceased, then I thought myselfe able to be equal with kinges, and so thought to increase my treasure in hope to have worne a trypple croune. But I se nowe the woride fayleth me, and so 1 am deceyved ; praying you all to prav for me.' " *» To affy, i. e., to betroth in marriage. '3 He can m/ike obligations, i. e., write bonds. !>* As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not. That is, I pay them no regard. So, in Drayton's Quett of Cynthia — Transform me to what shape you can, I pass not what it be. 2" The Lent shall be as long again as it is, and thou shall have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one. Butchers wore formerly not permitted to sell moat dur- ing Lent; some, however, had the interest to obtain a special licence to kill a certain number per week in con- sideration of the sick and feeble ; a monopoly that was doubtless highly profitable to them. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 2« This monument of the victory will Hear. He alludes to Stafford's armour, wliieh he stript from •'le body and put upon himself, and thus arrayed returned to London. " Queen Margaret^ mourning over SuffoWs head. The old play led Shakespeare into this disgusting and unnatural incident ; a queen with the head of her mur- dered paramour hid in her bosom in the presence of her husband. '* But^ first, go and set London-bridge on fire. At that time London-bridge was made chiefly of wood ; the houses upon it were burnt in this rebellion, and many of the inhabitants perished. M Matthew Gough is slain. According to Holinshed, Gough was " a man of great wit and much experience in feats of chivalrie, the which in continuall warres had spent his time in serving of the king and his father." »« Re (hat made its pay one and twenty fifteens. A. fifteenth was the fifteenth part of all the movables or personal property of each subject. " Ah, thou say, tlwu serge, -nay, thou buckram lord! Cade is quibbling upon the name of the unfortunate nobleman, say being an old term for silk ; on this depends the series of degradation, from say to serge, from serge to buckram. 32 And because they could not read thou hast hanged them. That is, they were hanged for their offences because they :ould not claim the benefit of clergy. 33 Thou dost ride on afoot-cloth. Afoot-cloth was a kind of robe which covered the horse and reached almost to the ground. It was frequently made of velvet, and trimmed with gold. ** When have I aught exacted at your hands, Kent to maintain, the king, t}t4 realm, and you f Dr. Johnson would read but to maintain ; the word Kent he thinks has crept into the text by a mistake of the printers ; as the passage stands, Lord Say implies that the men of Kent have been altogether exempt frcm taxes, which is evidently not his meaning. This alteration makes the line clear and intelligible. " When shall we go to Oheapside, and take top commodities upon our bills f This is an equivoque alluding to the brown bills, or halberds, with which the commons were anciently armed, and to a written paper representing money. so No sooner was I crept out of my cradle. But I was made a king, at nine months old. This is correct, and yet in the First Part of Henry the Sixth, Act iii., so. 4, Henry is made to remark — I do remember how my father said, »rhi«ih some critics think to be a conclusive proof that the whole of that play was not written by the same author aa this. But as an argument this is worth nothing, for Shakes- peare has frequently fallen into similar inconsistencies, by sometimes adhering to and sometimes departing from the old dramas which he selected to build his own upon. " Many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been ckfi with a brown bill. Sallet was a common name for a helmet ; thus in Sir Thomas North's translation of Plutarch — " One of the company seeing Brutus athirst also, he ran to the river for water, and brought it in his sallet.^'' Again, in The longer thou livest the more Fool thou art, 1570 — This will beare away a good rappe. As good as a sallet to me verilie. 38 Call hither to the stake my two brave bears. That is, the Earl of Warwick, and his father, the Earl of Salisbury ; a bear and ragged staff", were the arms of thoir family. 3» A dreadful lay, i. e., a fearful wager. «> Dies. Cifford did not fall by the hand of York ; his death is correctly described in the first scene of the Third part ol Henry the Sixth, where it is stated that he fell by the swords of the comtnon soldiers while charging the adverse ranks. Shakespeare not unfrequently departs from the truth of history to render his characters more considerable. •«* As wild Medea young Absyrtus did. Medea was a celebrated enchantress, and the daughter of Jietes, king of Cololiis. Having become enamoured of Jason, she assisted him in obtaining the golden fleece, and fled with him to Greece. To stop the pursuit of her father, she killed and cut in pieces her brotlier Absyrtus, and left his mangled limbs in the way through which his father must pass. This savage act has by some been attributed to Jason, and not to her. " Being opposites of such repairing nature. That is, being enemies not likely to be utterly defeated by this action, likely soon to rally and recover themselves. Shakespeare often uses the word repair in the sense of renovate. *' For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, To call a present court of parliament. York could not have heard this, as Henry had but just left the stage to fly to London, and had not said a word of calling a parliament. In the old play the king does say he will call a parliament, but Shakespeare has omitted the line, and then afterwards forgetfully alludes to it. It must be borne in mind that the poet wrote these plays only to be acted, and in representation such errors could not readily be detected ; had he corrected the press himself, he would have erased this and similar inconsistencies. They were doubtless produced hastily, and the activity of his subseouent life probably prevented a return to them. 949 THIRD PART OF ling Ifiiri} tijf |)iitji. ^rHIS tragedy includes a period of sixteen years, commencing immediately after the first battle ol St. Albans, on May 23rd, 1455, and closing with the murder of Henry the Sixth, and the birth of Prince Edward, in 1471. In this division of his triune play, though Shakespeare certainly inclines to the Lancastrian interest, yet he does not greatly exhibit his disgust at the turbulence and treachery of the York faction. Every scene is filled with deeds of violence and murder ; the story grows darker and more dark towards its close, and the crimes of the Yorkists are at length consummated by the murder of a pious and well-meaning king ; yet the poet utters no condemnation of the promoters of this reign of terror, and the play terminates with Edward's triumph, and a picture of his domestic felicity. Shakespeare, contrary to his usual custom, does not — " Assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men." Edward gains power by treachery, lives in luxury, and dies in peace ; no poetical justice overtakes him, but the thunderbolt descends upon his children, who perish miserably by the murderous devices of their uncle Richard. The reckless perjury of Edward is early shown in this play ; in persuading his father to claitr t'le crown, he exclaims — But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken : I 'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. Sunk and degraded indeed must be that father whom his son could think of thus addressing ; suet unblushing depravity is evidence of a very corrupt nature. It is difficult to say which is most offe:. sive, the open recommendation of perjury by Edward, or the subtilty of Richard, his younger brother who urges that an oath, not taken before a lawful magistrate, cannot be binding. It is but proper to say that Richard was but eight years old at this period, and the part which he is made to play con- sequently proceeds entirely from the imagination of the poet. The slaughter of young Rutland, though a barbarous action, may still admit of some excuse when we consider the provocation which Clifibrd has received ; he is under a vow to revenge his father's death, and he does revenge it with " blood-thirsty filial love." The following scene, where Clifford and Queen Margaret take York prisoner, and after mocking and torturing him by placing a crown of paper upon his head, and presenting him with a handkerchief stained with the blood of his son, despatch him with their daggers, is a fearful instance of the insatiate fury of party stiife and civil war. The bitterness of Margaret's character is here fully displayed ; she seems an impersona- tion of Ate, revelling in butchery, and mad for blood, her eyes glaring with the intoxication of grati- fied vengeance. But we are not greatly touched by the sufferings of York ; his ingratitude ^nd perfidy are too recent to permit us to sympathize with him ; we remember his promise of eternal loyalty and obedience to Henry, and the shameless manner in which he has broken all oaths ana obligations, and we cannot grieve at his punishment. Savage as was this act of Margaret, much may b« said in palliation of her misdeeds ; like another striking creati m of our poet's genius, she was 961 THIRD FART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTR " more sinned against than sinning;" outrage drives her from a woman to a fury, but years of mis- fortune elevate and give a terrible sublimity to her character. Now she is impelled onward like a hunted and infuriate tigress ; but as vears roll on, a mystic dignity and equivocal inspiration han^ around the character of Margaret the prophetess. Shakespeare always prepares us for the subsequent deeds of any of his characters, though fur some time they may be not much engaged in the action of the drama. Tims, when the news of the duke of York's death is brought to his two sons, Edward and Richard, the first shudder- ingly bids the messenger stop short in his tale — he cannot bear the relation of the circumstances of his father's death ; not so Richard, — he too, is shocked (for Shakespeare attributes to him the one virtue of filial afi^ction), but his^ron nature is enraged, not softened, and he exclaims to the man, " Say how he died, for I will hear it all." In the third act Richard reveals his character to the reader ; he unveils his innate love of villany, his resolute ambition ; he revels in a dream of antici- pated sovereignty^ and familiarizes his mind with murder. But Richard's nature and conduct are easily accounted for ; sprung from a strong-minded but treacherous race, he had been educated on the field of battle, and early familiarized with acts of cruelty and blood. It is in this drama that the character of Henry most enlists our sympathy ; in the two previous plays his apathy occasionally provokes our anger, but here we become convinced of his incapacity, and pity him. Peace is his longing, his idol ; at any price, peace : and to all sides he turns a yield- ing and supplicating aspect, forgetful that peace may be bought too dearly, and when obtained, be but a hollow purchase ; forgetful that in turbulent times the best mode of preventing war is to be prepared for it, and to offer the olive on the point of the sword. Men respect strength and decison, and will seldom provoke it ; the house of York would have lived tranquilly enough under the rule of the heroic Henry the Fifth. The placid character of his son is finely portrayed when lie sits upon a hill near the battle-field of Towton, and envies the condition of the homely shepherd, who is never disturbed by ambition or regal cares, but makes the welfare of his flock his only occupation. " Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely !" says the melancholy monarch. Here his meditations are interrupted by the horrors of civil war being brought home to his sight; a son enters, dragging in the body of his father, whom he had unknowingly slain in the heat of the battle ; full of joy at his tiiumph, he proceeds to rifle the corpse, when he recognizes the being who had given him life. Tlie agony and remorse attending such a terrible discovery, are painted with an unflinching pencil ; but the picture of terror is not yet complete. A father enters with the body of his son, whom he had also killed unknowingly, in the fury of the action ; and the wretched men mingle their groans and tears with those of their unhappy sovereign, who is an accidental witness of the misery of which he is an innocent cause. When the " king-maker" restores the deposed Henry to the crown, the humility of this religious king is extremely touching ; he yields the real burden of government to Warwick, because that leader is always fortunate in his deeds, and the latter chooses for his associate in the task, his son- in-law, the duke of Clarence. Henry thus resigns his claims, and offers the remainder of his life to the service of heaven — I make you both protectors of this land ; While I myeelf will lead a private life, And in devotion spend my later days, To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. But this tranquillity is of brief duration ; the waves of contention are but lulled for a moment, and the itorm again rages with all its former fierceness. Henry is a second time seized an. And issut 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 ? \^Alarum. Exeunt. SCENE III. — Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his Tutor. But. Ah, whither shall I fly, to 'scape their hands ! Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes ! Enter Clifford, and Soldiers. Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, — he shall die. Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away with him. Tut. Ah, Clifford 1 murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it^ fear, That makes him close his eyes ? — I '11 open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws : And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. — Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword. And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die : — I am too mean a subject for thy wrath. Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my fa- ^ ther's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again ; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine. Were not revenge sufficient for me ; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves. And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul ; And till I root out their accursed line. And leave not one alive, I hve in hell. Therefore \_IAfting his Hana Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : — To thee I pray : Sweet Clifford, pity me ! Clif Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm : Why wilt thou slay me ? Clif. Thy father hath. Rut. But 't was ere I was born ;* Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; Lest, in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, — He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; And when I give occasion of offience, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. Clif. No cause ? Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. [Clif. stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuce! [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit SCENE TV.— The Same. Alarum. Enter York. York. The army of the queen hath ffot tht field : My uncles both are slain in rescuing me f 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 1 fight it out !" And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd 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 I 969 ACT I, THIRD PART OF SCENE IV. 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. [-4 short Alarum within. 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 number'd that make up my life ; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northum- berland, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland, — I dare your quenchless fury to more rage : I am your butt, and I abide your shot. North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaeton 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? Clif. 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'er-run my former time : And, i^hou canst for blushing, view this face ; And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow- ardice, Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word ; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. \I)raws. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford 1 for a thousand causes, I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northum- berland. North. 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 : 960 And ten to one is no impeach of valour. {^They lay hands on York, who strvggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [York is taken 2>risoner, York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty ; So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now ? Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Cliffoid, and North- umberland, 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 pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine en- trails. That not a tear can fail for Rutland's death ? Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldst be mad ; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thu*. Thou would'st 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 paper Crown 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 Henrv had shook hands with death. Atn I. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. t-CKiNK aV. 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 ? 0, 't is a fault, too, too unpardonable ! — OS with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ; 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 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, visor-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 fother bears the type of king of Naples, Of botli 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. 'T is beauty, that doth oft make women proud ; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small : 'T is virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : 'T is 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.® 0, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! How could'st 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 soil, mild, pitiful, and flexible ; lliou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : Wo'jld'st 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, — 'Gaiast thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false French woman. North. 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, — 0, 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 : \He gives back the Handkerchief 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, ray 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. North. 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. Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord North umberland ? 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 fa- ther's death. [^Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And. here 's to right our gentle- hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ; So York may overlook the town of York. [Ureunt. 961 THffiD PART OF 6CBNB I. ACT II. SCENE I. — A Plain near Mortimer'a Cross in Herefordshire. gjnmis. Enter Edward, and Richard, uoith their Forces, marching. 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 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. — Eow fares my brother ? why is he so sad ? Rich. 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, 't is 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 hia love ! Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ?* Rich. 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. Edw, 'T is wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. { think, it cites us, brother, to the field ; 962 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds. Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, And over-shine 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 your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger. But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, When as the noble duke of York was slain, Your princely father, and my loving lord. Edw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too much. 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 Troy.^ But Hercules 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 subdu'd ; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ; Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief ho wept. The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by 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, The saddest spectacle that e'er 1 view'd. Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay I-- O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; And treacherously hast tliou vanquish'd him, ACT U. KINO HENRY iHE SIXTH. 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 body 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 moist- ure Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart : Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great bur- den ; For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. To weep, is to make less the depth of grief : Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge, for me ! — Richard, I bear thy name, I '11 venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee ; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : For cliair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces. War. How now, fair lords ? What fare ? what news abroad ? Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should re- count 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 wounds. valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. Edw. Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantage- net. 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 tears : And now, to add more measure to your woes, 1 come to tell you things since then befali'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly ns 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, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd towards Saint Alban's 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 Alban's met. Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought * But, whether 't was the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen. That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; Or whether 't was 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 a lazy thrasher 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. Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick ? And when came George from Burgundy to Eng- land ? War. Some six miles oft' 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. Rich. 'T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 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: For thou shalt know, this strong right hand d mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head. And wring the awful sceptre from his fist ; 968 ACT n. THIRD PART OF SCENE n. Were he as famous 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; T is 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, Numb'ring 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. War. 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 more 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. Tlieir 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. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War- wick speak : 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 lean ; And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour !) Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! War. 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. Rich. Then, Cliftbrd, were thy heart as hard as steel, U64 (As thou hast shown it flinty bv thy deeds,) I come to pierce it, — or to give thee mine. Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and Saint George, for us ! Enter a Messenger. War. How now ? what news ? Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host ; And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors : Let 'a away. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Before York. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northum- berlanp, with Forces. 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 rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ; — To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — Withhold revenge, dear God ! 't is not my fault, Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow, Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity, must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks 1 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 imloving 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,) ACT II. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. fiCENB n. 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 ! Wei'e 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 f ' 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. K. Hen. 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 '11 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 ! Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our foes are nigh. And this soft carriage makes your followers faint. You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ; Unsheath your sword, and dub hira presently. — Edward, kneel down. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; And lefl,rn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I 'II 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 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. Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent.'* Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. 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 lords. And hearten those that fight in your defence : Unsheath your sword, good father ; cry — " Saint George !" March. Enter Edwakd, George, Richard,War- wiCK, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry ! wilt thou kneel for grace. And set thy diadem upon my head ; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms. Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. 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. Clif. And reason too ; Who should succeed the father, but the son ? Rich. Are you there, butcher ? — 0, I cannot speak ! Clif Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer thee. Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'T was 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 fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown ? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd War- wick ? dare you speak ? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 't was my turn to fly, and now 't is thine. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'T was not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. 966 THIRD PART OF SCENK in. Rich. Northumberland, I bold tbee reverent- ly;- Break oil' the parle ; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Chf. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child ? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward. As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; But, ere sun-set, I '11 make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue ; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meet- ing here, Cannot be cur'd by words : therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword: By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd. That Clitford'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 is right. There is no wrong, but Qwery thing is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam : But like a foul misshapen stigmatic," Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,)" Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex- traught, I'o let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? Edw. A wisp of straw" were worth a thousand crowns. To make this shameless callet know herself. — Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus;'® 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 stoop ; 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 sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? 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. Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring. And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root : And though the edge hath something hit our- selves. Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike. We '11 never leave, till we have hewn thee down, Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference. Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. — Sound trumpets! — let our bloody colours wave! — ■ And either victory, or else a grave. Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we '11 no longer stay :— These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [^Exeunt. SCENE HI.— Jl Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. War. 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 t rest awhile. Enter Edward, running. Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, ungentle death ! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, ray lord ? what hap ? what hope of good ? ACT II. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE IV— V. Enter George. Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you, whitjier shall we fly ? Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings ; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. Enter Richard. Mich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifibrd'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 1" So underneath the belly of their steeds. That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood ; I '11 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 tragady Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? ilere on my knee I vow to God above, I '11 never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, Or fortune given me measure of revenge. Edw. 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-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; — and, gentle, Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : I, that never did weep, now melt with woe. That winter should cut off our spring-time so. War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. Geo. 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. — Fore-slow no longer, make me hence amain. [Exeunt. SCENE lY.—The Same. Another Fart of the Field. Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. Hick. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutknd ; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone : This is the hand, that stabb'd 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 bands, that slew thy sire and brother. To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee. [Thej/ fght. Wah. enters ; Clif. Jlies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase ; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field. Alarum. Enter King Henrt. K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning a 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 I For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too. Have chid me from the battle ; swearing bojh, They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead ! if God's good will were sec 967 ACT II. THIRD PART OF For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? God ! raethinks, 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 hour« 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 yean ; So many years ere I shall shear 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 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? 0, 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 wait on him. Alarum. Entir a Son that has killed his father, drag/inff 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 1 it is my father's face. Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 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. — 0B8 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. piteoi]^ spectacle ! O bloody times ! vVhilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. — Weep, wretched man, I '11 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, loho has killed his Son, toith the. Body in his Arms. Fath. 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, 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! 0, that my death would stay these rulhful deeds ! — 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, 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 wiH the country, for these woful chances, Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ! Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death f 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. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCKNE VI Son. I '11 bear tliee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit, with the Body. Fath. These arras of mine shall be thy wind- ing-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 '11 bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will, For I have raurder'd where I should not kill. [E.cit, ivith 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 amain. Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with . them : Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; Or else come after, I '11 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. SCENE yi.— The Same. A loud Alarum,. Enter Clifford, xvounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies. Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow, More thaa 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 v/hither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? 122 And who shines now but Henry's enemies ? 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 ; T, and ten thousand in this luckless rea'im, 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 efl"u8e of blood doth make me faint : — Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest ; 1 stabb'd your fether's bosom, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. Edw. 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, fiU'd with a fretting gust. Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them ? War. No, 't is impossible he should escape : For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And, wheresoe'er he is, he 's surely dead. [Clif. groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave ? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- parting. 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 Clif- ford ; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, S69 THIRD PART OF 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. Udw. 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 brinff 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 ; 'T is 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. Edto. 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 ray 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. War. Ay, but he 's dead : Off with the traitor'a head. And rear it in the place your father's stands. — And now to London with triumphant march. There to bo 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 scattcr'd 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 '11 cross the sea. To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. JSdw. Even as thou wilt, sweet W'arwick, let it be : For on 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 Gloster ; And George, of Clarence ; — Warwick, as ourself, Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence ; George of Gloster ; For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.'^ War. Tut, that 's a foolish observation. Richard, be duke of Gloster : Now to London, To see these honours in possession. \Exeunt ACT III. ^CENE I. — A Chase in the North of England Enter Two Keepers, with Cross-hows in their Hands. \st Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we '11 shroud ourselves ; 970 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. Ind Keep. I '11 stay above the hill, so J^oth may shoot KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENB I. 1st Keep. 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 '11 tell thee what befell me on a day. In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2nd Keep. Here comes a man, let 's stay till he be past. Enter King Henry disguised, with a Prayer- hook. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love. To greet mine own land with ray wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 't is no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee. Thy balm wash'd ofi' wherewith thou wast anointed : No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitoi-s press to speak for right. No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; For bow can I help them, and not myself? \st Keep. Ay, here 's a deer whose skin 's a keeper's fee : This is the quondam king ; let 's seize upon him. K. Hen. Let me embrace these four adver- sities ; For wise men say, it is the wisest course. Ind Keep. Why linger we ? let us lay hands upon him. \st Keep. Forbear a while ; we '11 hear a little more. K. 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 pitied 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 remoi-se. 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. Bhe weeps, aud 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 't will be ; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. Ind 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 ? 'ind Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that 's enough. Ind 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. Ind 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 ? Ind Keep. No, nevei such an oath, nor will not now. K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king of England ? 2nd 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 ? \st 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 swear. Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 971 ACT III. THIRD PART OF SCENK n. And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with ray 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. ]3ut do not break 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 '11 obey. 1st Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king Edward. J^. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as king Edward is. \st 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 Room 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 injustice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his hfe.^' 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 '11 make a pause. Qlo. 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 ! \Aside. Olo. Silence ! \^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 '11 warrant you all your lands. 972 An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you '11 catch a blow, Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. [^Aside, Glo. God forbid that ! for he '11 take vantages. \^Aside. K. Edw. How many children hast thou, wid- ow ? tell me. Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. \Aside. Glo. Nay, whip me then ; he '11 rather give her two. {Aside. L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. Glo. You shall have four, if you '11 be rul'd by him. \Aside. K. Edw. 'T were 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 '11 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. [Glo. and Clar. retire to the other side. K. Edw. Now, tell me, madam, do you love your children ? L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them good ? 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 '11 tell you how these lands are to be got. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your high- ness' 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. ACT III. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE II. Clar. As led as fire ! nay, then her wax must melt. [Aside. L. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear my task ? K. Edw. An easy task ; 't is but to love a king. L. Grey. That 's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. L, Grey. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. Glo. The match is made ; she seals it with a curt'sy. K. Edw. But stay thee, 't is the fruits of love 1 mean. L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get ? L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, 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 per- ceive 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 them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accoixls 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 re- quest : 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, Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. [Aside, K. Edw. [Asidei\ Her looks do argue her re- plete 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. 'T is better said than done, my gra- cious 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 unto: I know, I am too mean to be your queen : And yet too good to be your concubine : K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean, mj queen. L. Grey. 'T will grieve your grace, my sons should call you — father. K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some : why, 't is a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. [Aside. Clar. When he was made a shriver, 't was for shift. [Aside. K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. K. Edw. You 'd think it strange if I should marry her. " Clar. To whom, my lord ? K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you both. Her suit is granted for her husband's lauds. 978 ^CT III. THIRD PART OF SCENE III. Enter a Nobleman. Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. K. Edw. See, that he be conveyed 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 honour- able. [Exeunt K. Edw., L. Grey, Clar., and Lord. Glo. 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 '11 lade it dry to have his way : So do I wish the crown, being so far otf ; And so I chide the means that keep me from it ; And so I say — I '11 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 alford ? I '11 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 ray back, Where sits deformity to mock my body ; To shape ray 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. 974 And am I then a man to be belov'd? O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought 1 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 'II make ray heaven — to dream upon the crown And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my misshap'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 ray cheeks with artificial tears. And frame my face to all occasions. I '11 drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; I 'II slay more gazers than the basilisk ; I '11 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 Proteus, for advantages. And set the raurd'rous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ? Tut ! were it further ofi", I '11 pluck it down. [Exit. SCENE III. — France. A Room in the Palace. Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, ayid Lady Bona, attended ; the King takes his State. Then enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward her Son, and the Earl of Oxford. K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar- garet, [Hising. Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state. And birth, that thou sliould'st stand, while Lewis doth sit. Q. Mar. 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 ; KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE in. Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, A.nd to my humble seat conform myself. K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair ? Q, Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears, And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck \Seats her by hiin. 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. Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop- ing thoughts, And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — That Henry, sole possesiior of my love. Is, of a king, become a banish'd man. And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ; While proud ambitious Ed-.vard, duke of York, Usurps the regal title, and the seat Of Endand's true-anointed lawful king. This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, — With tbis 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 treasures seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight. And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm. While we bethink a means to break it off. Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. 71 . Lew. The more I stay, the more I '11 suc- cour thee. Q. Mar. 0, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow : /\!id see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Enter Warwick, atterydedP K. Lew. What 's he, approacheth boldly to our presence ? Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's great- est friend. l£. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings thee to France ? \^Descending from his state. Q. Mar. rises. Q. Mar. A.J, now begins a second storm to rise ; For this is he, that moves both wind and tide. War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come, — in kindness, and unfeigned love, — First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; And, then, to crave a league of amity ; And, lastly, to confirm that amity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage. Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. War. And, gracious madam, [To Bona.] in our king's behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, — hear me speak, Before yoU answer W^arwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love. But from deceit, bred by necessity ; For how can tyrants safely govern home. Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, — That Henry liveth still : but were he dead. Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour : For though usurpers sway the rule a while. Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. War. Injurious Margaret ! Prince. And why not queen ? War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally descends. War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth ilia- course, You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that whieb Henry the Fifth had gotten ? 975 4 ACT 111. THIRD PART OF SCENTH; 111. Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years ; a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, Whom thou obeyd'st thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right. Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ? For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. Oxf, Call him my king, by whose injurious doom My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death ? and more than so, my father. Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, When nature brought him to the door of death ? No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. War. And I the house of York. K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Oxford, Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, While I use further conference with Warwick. Q. Mar. Heaven grant, that Warwick's words bewitch him not ! [^Retirinff with the Prince a7id Oxf. IC. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience. Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath, To link with him that were not lawful chosen. War. Thereon I ^pawn my credit and mine honour. K. T^eiu. But is he gracious in the people's eye ? War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. IC. Lew. Then farther, — all dissembling set aside, Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona. War. Such it seems, As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say, and swear, — That this his love w^as an eternal plant; Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun ; Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. K Lew. Now, sister, let us Lear your firm resolve. W6 Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine : — Yet I confess, [Tb War.] that often ere this day. When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall be Edward's ; And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd : — Draw near, queen Margaret ; and be a witness, That Bona shall be wife to the English king. Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device By this alliance to make void my suit ; Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Mar- garet : But if your title to the crown be weak, — As may appear by Edward's good success, — Then 't is but reason, that I be releas'd From giving aid, which late I promised. Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, That your estate requires, and mine can yield. War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease : Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, — You have a fether able to maintain you ; And better 't were, you troubled him than France. Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War wick, peace ; Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love ; For both of you are birds of self-same feather. \^A Horn sounded within. K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. Enter a Messewiger. Mess. 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. [To Mar. They all read their Letters. Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mis- tress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. ACT III. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SOENE ni. Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettled : I hope, all 's for the best, K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news ? and yours, fair queen ? Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with un- hop'd joys. War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's dis- content. K. Lew. What! has your king married the lady Grey ? And now, to sooth your forgery and his. Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ? Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before : This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. War. 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 the abuse done to my niece f '' 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 desjrt is honour. And, to repair my honour lost for him, I here renounce him, and retvrn to Henry : My noble queen, let former g'fudges pass. And henceforth I aiu thy t'ue servitor; I will revenge his wrong 'o lady Bona, Arid replant Henry in ]\r- former state. Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd ray hate to love ; And I forgive and quite forget old fiiults. And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend. That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 1 '11 undertake to land them on our coast, Alid force the tyrant from his seat by war. *T is not his new-raade 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 ? Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ? Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, are one. War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd, You shall have aid. Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, return in post ; And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 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 '11 prove a widower shortly, I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake. Q. Mar. Tell him. My mourning weeds are laid aside. And I am ready to put armour on. War. Tell him from me, That he hath done me wrong ; And therefore I '11 uncrown him, ere 't be long. There 's thy reward ; be gone. \^Exit Mess K. Lew. 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 ? War. This shall assure my constant loyalty : — That if our queen and this young prince agree, I '11 join mine eldest daughter," and my joy. To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. Q. Mar. 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. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; And here, to pledge my vow, I give my liand. \He gives his hand to War. Q17 #»"» ACT IV. THIRD PART OF SCENE I. K. Lew. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. — I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance. For mocking marriage with a dame of France. \Exexint all hut War. War. 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 '11 be chief to bring him down again : Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mocktTy. \^Exit. ACT lY. SCENE I. — London. A Boom in the Palace. Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague, and Others. Gio. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ? Clar. Alas, you know, 't is far from hence to France ; How could he stay till Warwick made return ? Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the king. Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended ; Lady Grey, as Queen ; Pembroke, Stafford, Hast- ings, and Others. Oh. And his well-chosen bride. Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice. That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Warwick ; Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment. That they'll take no offence at our fibuse. K. Edw, Suppose, they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward, \our king and Warwick's, and must have my will. Olo. And you shall have your will, because our king: Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 978 K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? Qlo. Not I: No ; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd Whom God hath join'd together : ay, and t were pity. To sunder them that yoke so well together. K. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike, aside. Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey Should not become my wife, and Ensfland's queen : — And you too, Somerset, and Montague, Speak freely what you think. Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis Becomes your enemy, for mocking him About the marriage of the lady Bona. Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge. Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd, By such invention as I can devise ? Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance. Would more have strengthen'd this our coininii;- wealth 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- riage. Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself England is safe, if true within itself ? Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when 't is back'd with France. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCEITK I. Hast. 'T is better using France, than trusting France : Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Which he hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves ; In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well desei'ves To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. K. Edw. Ay, what of that ? it was my will, and grant ; And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. Qlo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done well. To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride ; She better would have fitted me, or Clarence : But in your bride you bury brotherhood. Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment; Which being shallow, you shall give me leave To play the broker in mine own behalf; And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brother's will. Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen. Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent,^* And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns : What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee. So long as Edward is thy constant friend, And their true sovereign, whom they must obey ? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too. Unless they seek for hatred at my hands : Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. Qlo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. [^Aside. Enter a Messenger. K. Edw. Now messenger, what letters, or whal news. From France ? Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few words. But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate. K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee ; therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters' Mess. At my depart, these were his very words ; " Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — That Lewis of.France is sending over maskers. To revel it with him and his new bride." K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks "me Henry. But what said lady Bona to my marriage ? Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild disdain ; " Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a widower shortly, I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake." K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ? For I have heard, that she was there in place. Me.'iS. "Tell him," quoth she, "my mourning weeds are done. And I am ready to put armour on." K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries ? Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words ; " Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I '11 uncrown him, ere 't be long." K. Edw. Ha ! durst the ti-aitor breathe out so proud words ? Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : They shall have wars, and pay for their pre- sumption. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret ? Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd in friendship. That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. Clar. Belike, the elder ; Clarence will have the younger.*^ Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 979 ACT IV. THIBD PART OF SCENE 11-111. For 1 will hence to Warwick's other daughter; That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage I may not prove inferior to yourself. — You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. [JSxit Clar., and Sou. follows, mo. Not I : My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside. K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick ! Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; And haste is needful in this desperate case. — Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf Go levy men, and make prepare for war ; They are already, or quickly will be landed : Myself in person will straight follow you. \Exeunt Pem. and Staf. But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance : Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me ? If it be so, then both depart to him ; T rather wish you foes, than hollow friends ; But if you mind to hold your true obedience. Give me assurance with some friendly vow, That I may never have you in suspect. Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true ! Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause ! K.JEdw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? Olo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. K. Edw. Why so ; then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 'TSll we meet Warwick with his foreign power. [Exeunt. SCENE n.— ^ Plain in Warwickshire. Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French and other Forces. War. 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 come ; — Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends ? Clar. Fear not that, my lords. War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick ; 980 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, Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine, And now what rests, but, in night's coverture, Tliy brother being carelessly encamp'd. His soldiers lurking in the towns about. And but attended by a simple guard. We may suiprise 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 f* So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, At unawares may beat down Iklward'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. [They all cry, " Henry !" Why, then, let 's on our way in silent sort : For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George ! [Exeunt. SCENE HI. — Edward's Camp, near Warwick. Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's Tent. 1st Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand ; The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. 2nd Watch. What, will he not to-bed ? 1st Watch. Why, no : for he hath made a sol- emn vow Never to lie and take his natural rest. Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd, 2nd Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, If Warwick be so near as men report. 3rd Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that. That with the king here resteth in his tent ? 1st Watch. 'T is the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend. 3rd Watch. O, is it so ? But why commands the king. That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keepeth in the cold field ? 2nd Watch. 'T is the more honour, because more dangerous. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE IV. Srd Watx:h. Ay ; but give me worship and qui- etness, I like it better than a dangerous honour. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, *T is to be doubted, he would waken him. \st Watch. Unless our halberds did shuf up his passage. 2nd Watch. Ay ; wherefore else guard we his royal tent, But to defend his person from night-foes ? Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and Forces. War. 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. \st Watch. Who goes there ? 2nd Watch. Stay, or thou diest. [War. and the rest, cry all — " Warwick ! Warwick !" and set upon the Guard ; who Jly^ crying — " Arm ! Arm !" War., and the rest, following them. The Drum heating, and Trumpets sounding, Re- enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a Gown, sitting in a Chair : Glos. and Hast. fly. Som. What are they that fly there ? War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go, here 's the duke. K. Edw. The duke ! why, Warwick, when we parted last, Thou call'dst me king ? War. 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 ? K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too ? N"ay, 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. War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king : [ Takes off his Crown. But Henry now shall weai 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 fel- lows, I '11 follow you, and tell what answer Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him : — Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs abide ; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. YExit K. Edw., led out ; Som. with him. Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, But march to London with our soldiers ? War. 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. SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change ? Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn. What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward ? Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick ? Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal per- son. Riv. Then is my sovereign slain ? Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken pri- soner ; 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. Riv. 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. Q. Eliz. 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, 981 AOT IV. THIRD PART OF SCENE V-Vi. \.nd bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ; A-y, 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 the English crown. Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then be- come ? Q. Eliz. I am informed, 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 '11 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. SCENE V. — A Park near Middleham Castle, in Yorkshire. Evter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stan- ley, and Others. (jrlo. 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. Til at 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. Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the game. A". Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the huntsjnen stand. — Now, brother of G.oster, lord, Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer ? , 082 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ; Your horse stands ready at the park corner. K. Edw. But whither shall we then ? Hast. To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to Flanders. Gib. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my meaning. K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 't is no time to talk. IT. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt thou go along ? Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. Glo. Come then, away ; let 's have no more ado. K. Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee from Warwick's frown ; And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. SCENE VL— ^ Room in the Totoer. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, So- merset, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants. K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat ; And turn'd ray captive state to liberty. My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys ; At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of theii sovereigns ; But, if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your majesty. K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ? for well using me ? Nay, be thou sure, I '11 well requite thy kindness, For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure ; Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, At last, by notes of household harmony. They quite forget their loss of liberty. — But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free. And chiefly therefore I thank God, and thee ; He was the author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; And that the people of this blessed land May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars ; Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, I here resign my government to thee For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. Acr IV KING HENRY THE SIXTH. scene vi. U''ar. Your grace hath still been fam'd for Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? virtuous ; Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich* And now may seem as wise as virtuous, mond. By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice. K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If sfj* For few men rightly temper with the stars ;" cret powers Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace. [Lays his Hand on his Head. For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. sway. His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; To whom the heavens, in thy nativity. His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown, His hand to wield a sceptre ; and himself As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. And therefore I yield thee my free consent. Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he, War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. Must help you more than you are hurt by me. K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your hands ; Enter a Messenger. Now join your hands, and, with your hands, War. What news, my friend ? your hearts. Mess. That Edward is escaped from youi That no dissension hinder government : brother. I make you both protectors of this land ; And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. While I myself will lead a private life, War. Unsavoury news : But how made he And in devotion spend my latter days, escape ? To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's Gloster, • will ? And the lord Hastings, who attended him Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con- In secret ambush on the forest side. sent; And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ; For on thy fortune I repose myself. F'or hunting was his daily exercise. War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be War. My brother was too careless of his content : charge. — We '11 yoke together, like a double shadow But let us hence, ray sovereign, to provide To Henry's body, and supply his place ; A salve for any sore that may betide. I mean, in bearing weight of government, [Exeunt K. Hen., War., Clar., Lieut., and While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. Attendants. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful, Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Ed- Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, ward's ; And all his lands and goods be confiscate. For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help ; Clar. What else? and that succession bede- And we shall have more wars, before 't be long. termin'd. As Henry's late presaging prophecy War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich- part. mond ; K. Ren. But, with the first of all your chief So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts. aflfairs, What may befall him, to his harm, and ours : Let me entreat, (for I command no more,) Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, Be sent for, to return from France with speed : Till storms be past of civil enmity. For. till I see them here, by doubtful fear Oxf. Ay ; for, if Edward repossess the crown. My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 'T is like, that Richmond with the rest shall Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all down. speed. Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. K.Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is Come, therefore, let 's about it speedily. that, [Exeunt. 983 ACT V. THIRD PART OF SCENE VXl. SCENE Yll.— Before York. Enter King Edward, Glostek, Hastings, and Forces. K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and the rest ; Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, A.nd says — that once more I shall interchange My waned state for Henry's regal crown. Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, And brought desir'd help from Bui-gundy : What then remains, we being thus arriv'd From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, But that we enter, as into our dukedom ? Glo. The gates made fast ! — Brother, I like not this ; For many men, that stumble at the threshold. Are well foretold — that danger lurks within. K. Edw. Tush, man ! abodements must not now affright us : By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us. Hast. My liege, I '11 knock once more, to sum- mon them. Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and his Brethren. May. M}'- lords, we were forewarned of your coming. And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; For now we owe allegiance unto Henry, K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king. Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom ; As being well content with that alone. Glo. But, when the fox hath once got in his nose, He '11 soon find means to make the body follow. [Aside. Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt ? Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. [Exeunt from above. Olo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon 1 084 Hast. The good old man would fain that all were well, So 't were not 'long of him : but, being enter'd, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him, and all his brothers, unto reason. Re-enter the Mayor and Two Aldermen, helow. K. Edw. So, master mayor : these gates must not be shut, But in the night, or in the time of war. What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ; [Takes his Keys For Edward will defend the town, and thee, And all those friends that deign to follow me. Drum. Enter Montgomery, and Forces, marching. Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. K. Edw. Welcome, sir John ! But why come you in arms ? Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm. As every loyal subject ought to do. K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery : But we now forget Our title to the crown ; and only claim Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again ; I came to serve a king, and not a duke, — Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. [A March begun. K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we '11 debate, By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. Mont. What talk you of debating ? in few words If you '11 not here proclaim yourself our king, I '11 leave you to your fortune ; and be gone. To keep them back that come to succour you : Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ? Qlo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points ? K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we '11 make our claim : Till then, 't is wisdom to conceal our meaning. Ha^t. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms must rule. Olo. And fearless minds climb soonest unia crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. ACT IV. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SCENE VIII. K. Edio. Then be it as you will ; for 't is my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem, Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself ; And now will I be Edward's champion. Hast. Sound, trumpet ; Edward shall be here proclaim'd : — Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation, [Gives him a Paper. Flourish. Sold. \Reads^ Edward the Fourth, by the grace of f^od, king of England and France, and lord of Ire- land, unglirig work of it; but some commeut^itors would read 'iidged, \. e., fled. Thus in Coriolanus — 994 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they dirt tnjMg* From rascals worse than they. * Or as {he south to the septentrion. The septentrion is the north. The same word is used bv Milton as an adjective — Cold septentrion blasts. • Bc^zle mine eyes, or do I see three suns f This singular phenomenon is thus described by \\ rlin- shed : — " At which tyme the sun (as some write) appca'cd to the carle of March like three sunnes, and sodainely joynca altogether in one, uppon whiche sight hee tooke suoh cou- rage, that he fiercely setting on his enemys, put iJioni to flight; and for this cause menne ymagined that lie gave the sun in his full bryghtness for his badge or cognisance." The reader will see that the old chronicler does not appein to place any great faith in this supernatural appearance. At this time, he says, the sun, as some write, &c. ; ho does not assert the truth of it himself. '" And happy always was itfor4luit »An, Whase father for his hoarding iDent to hell. Henry means, that it was well for the son that the father should be punished for his sins in his own pewon, icateod of their being visited upon his children. " iJarraign your uiiitle. That is, range your troops ; put them in fighting order »' / would your highness woxdd depart the field ,• The queen hath best success when you are absent, Henry was so spiritless, and invariably unfortunate, that it at length grew into a belief that his presence in llie fleld of battle was an evil omen auguring defeat. This su- perstition is thus alluded to by Drayton, in The Miseries o, Queen Margaret — Some think that Warwick had not lost the day, But that the king into the field he brought; For with the worse that side went still away Which had king Henry with them when they fought- Upon his birth so sad a curse there lay. As that he never prospered in aught. The queen wan too, among the loss of many, Her husband absent ; present, never any. NOTES TO THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH. " But like afoul misshapen stigmatic. A stigmatic denoted a criminal who had been branded or stigmatized with a hot iron as a token of punishment. It is applied to Richard in allusion to his deformity, meau- mg that he is branded by nature as a man to be avoided. ■< Asif achunnel nhould be calVd the seu. A. channel in Shakespeare's time signified what we now call a kennel. Thus in Stowe's Chronicle, 1605, " such a stornie of raine happened at London, as the like of long tinifi could not be remembered; wherethrough, the chan- nel/^ of the citie su idonly rising," &c. . . ^ A whisp of straw. It would appear tl at a wliisp of straw, twisted into the form of a crown or head-dress, was sometimes placed upon termagant women as a disgrace. Thus, in A Dialogue he- :weeH John and Joan, striving who shall wear the Breeches. — / 'Icasures of Poetry, no date — Good gentle J one, with-holde thy hands. This once let me entreat thee, And make me promise, never more That tliou slialt mind to beat me. For feare thou toeare the wispe, good wife. And make our neighbours ride. »• AWumgh thy husband may be Menelwus. That is, may be a cuckold. »' boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And Jiath bereft thee of thy life too late. The meaning of this obscure passjige appears to be, \\\] father gave thee life too soon ; for hadst thou been born later, thou hadst been yet a boy, and therefore not en- gaged in this fearful battle. And he hath bereft thee of thy life too late ; for it would have been better that thou hadst perished in infancy than have lived to be killed by thy father in early manhood. 18 And so obsequious shall thy father be. C5««^«io«« is here, carel'ul of obsequies, or funeral rites. 19 Pqj. Gloster''8 dukedom is too amino as. Eichard is alluding to Thomas of Woodstock and Hum- phrey, the two previous dukes of Gloster, who were both murdered. The author probably had in his mind the fol- lowing pa-ssage from Hall's Qhronicle : — " It seemeth to many men that the name and title of Gloucester hath bene unfortunate and unluckie to diverse, whiche for their nonour have bene erected by creation of princes to that style and diguitie ; as Hugh Spencer, Thomas of Wood- stocke, (who was killed at Bury ;) whiche three persons by miserable death finished their dales ; and after them king Richard the iii., also duke of Gloucester, in civil warre was slain and confounded : so that this name of Gloucester is taken for an unhappie and unfortunate stile, as the pro- verbe speaketh of Sejanes horse, whose ryder was ever •znhorsed, and whose possessor was ever brought to uisery." ^oZaund, Le., lawn, a plain extended between two woods. "' Because in quarrel of the house of York, The worthy gentleman ditl lose his life. This is an error ; Sir John Gre_> was killed at the second battle of St. Albans, fighting on the side of king Henry ; and his estate was seized, not by Margaret, bui by Edward. ^^ Or an unlick'd bear-whelp. An opinion anciently prevailed that the bear brings forth only shapeless lumps of animated flesh, which she licks into the form of bears; and to this absurdity Eichard alludes. Eoss, in his Arcana microcosmi, states that it is true that bears bring forth their young apparently do- formed and misshapen, as the cubs are born wrapped up in a thick membrane, which is covered with a mucilagi- nous matter, and thus gives them the appearance of mis- shapen lumps. The mucilage is licked away by the dam, and the membrane broken, when the cub appears in ita natural shape. ^ Enter Warwick, attended. Mr. Eitson says, — " There needs no other proof how little our common histories are to be depended upon, than this fabulous story of Warwick and the Lady Bona. The king was privately married to Lady Elizabeth Woodville, in 1403, and in February, 14t;5, Warwick actvuxUy stood sponsor to the Princess Elizabeth, their first child. What secretly displeased him was : — first, the king's marrying one of the queen's sisters to the Duke of Buckingham ; secondly, his conferring the otlicu of lord treasurer (which he had taken from Lord Montjoy,) upon Lord Eivers, the queen's brother; thirdly, — his making a match between the son and heir of Lord Herbert and another of the queen's sisters ; and between that nobleman's daughter and the young Lord Lisle ; and creating young Herbert knight and Lord of Dimstar; fourthly, — his making a match between Sir Thomas Grey, the queen's son, and Lady Ann, daughter and heiress of the Duke of Exeter, the king's niece, who had been talked of as a wife for the Earl of Northumberland, Warwick's brother. — See Wilhel- mi Wyrcester Annates, which are unfortunately defective from the beginning of November, 1468, at which time no open rupture had taken place between the king and War- wick, who, for anything that appears to the contrary, were, at least, upon speaking terms." ='■' Did I let pass the abuse done to my mece ? It is supposed, that before the rupture between Wht- wick and Edward, the latter repaid the services of the great earl by an attempt to violate his niece or daughter. Holinshed thus refers to this singular and ungrateful outrage : — " King Edward did attempt a thing once in the carle's house, which was much against the eurle's hones- tie (whether he would have deflowered his daughter or his niece, the certaintie was not for both their honours reveal- ed), for surely such a thing was attempted by King Ed- ward." *^ Pll a join mine eldest daughter. This is an error ; Margaret's son, Edward, was n);irriod to Warwick's youngest daughter, the Tady Anne. 26 / was not ignoble of descent. Her mother was Jaqueline, the widow of the celebrated Duke of Bedford, regent of France, and brother of Henry the Fifth. Her ftither was Sir Richard Woodville, who had 9 My meed hath got me fame. Meed, here means not reward or recompense, but merit. Henry's reputation for meekness and sanctity had procured him fame ; men having got over their disappointment in not finding him a hero, were pleased to discover him to be a saint. " A Lancaster ! A Lancaster ! As Edward and his party are here the invaders, the shouts should be, A York! a York! unless we suppose tliem to come from Henry's guard, on the sudden appear- ance of their adversaries. ** And, lords, Unvards Coventry tend we our course, Where ferem/ptory Warwick now remains. Warwick has but just left the stage, declaring his intoa- 996 tion to go to Coventry ; he could not yet have arrived theie, nor could Edward have been acquainted with his intention. Shakespeare was le be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil : And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ ; And s(;em a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter Two Murderers. But soft, here come my executioners. — How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates ? Are you now going to despatch this thing ? Ist Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have the warrant. That we may be admitted where he is. Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here aboui me : [^Gives the Warrant. When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. \st Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate, Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd. We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears : I like you, lads ; — about your bu.-viufcss straight ; Go, go, despatch. \st Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE \Y.—The Same. A Room in the Tow.-.r. Enter Clarence and Brakenburt. Brak. Why looks your grace so heavilj^o day? Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable nignt, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights. That, as I am a chris'.ian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 't were to buy a world of happy days So full of dismal terror was the time. ACT I. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. soENB rv. Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you, tell me. Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; And, in my company, my brother Gloster : Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches ; thence we look'd toward Eng- land, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, over board, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued, jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea; Some lay in dead men's sculls ; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 't were in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? Clar. Methought, I had : and often did I strive To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; l>ut smother'd it within my panting bulk. Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul ! 1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman'* which poets write of, iUnto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul. Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cry'd aloud, — " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — " Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjut'd Clar- ence, — That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury ; — Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments 1 — " With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, though it aff"righted you: I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done these things, — That now give evidence against my soul, — For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me ! — God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 0, spare my guiltless wife, and ray poor chil- dren ! — 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Brak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good rest ! — [Clar. reposes himself on a Chair. Sorrow breaks sesisons, and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories. An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imaginations, They often feel a world of restless cares : So that, between their titles, and low name. There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the Two Murderers. \st Murd. Ho ! who 's here ? Brak. What would'st thou, fellow ? and liow cam'st thou hither ? \st Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. Brak. What, so brief ? 2nd Murd. 0, sir, 't is better to b« brief than tedious : — Let him see our commission ; talk no more. \^A Paper is delivered to Brak., who reads it Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : — • I will not reason what is meant hereby, 1011 I KING RICHARD THE THIRD. SCJSNE IV. Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys ; — there sits the duke asleep : I '11 to the king ; and signify to him, That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 1st Murd. You may, sir : 't is a point of wisdom ; Fare you well. [^xit Brak. 2nd Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? \sl Murd. No ; he '11 say, 't was done cowardly, when he wakes. 2nd Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great judgment day. \st Murd. Why, then he '11 say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 2nd Murd. The urging of that word, judg- ment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me. \si Murd. What ? art thou afraid ? 2nd Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; but to be daran'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me. \st Murd. I thought, thou had'st been resolute. 2nd Murd. So I am, to let him live. \st Murd. I '11 back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so. 2nd Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. \st Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 2nd Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of con- science are yet within me. \st Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed 's done. 2nd Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot Che reward. \st Murd. Where 's thy conscience now ? 2nd Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. \st Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. 2nd Murd. 'T is no matter ; let it go ; there 's few, or none, will entertain it. \st Murd. What, if it come to thee again ? 2nd Murd. I '11 not meddle with it, it is a dan- gerous thing, it makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him ; a man cannot syvear, but it checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him : 'T is a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it filla one full of obstacles : it made me once restore a purse of gold, that by chance I found ; it beggars any man that keeps it ; it is turned out of all towns and cities for a 1012 dangerous thing; and every man, that means t- live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it. \st Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. 2nd Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and beheve him not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh. \st Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot pre- vail with me. 2nd Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that re- spects his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? \st Murd. Take him over the costard'^ with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt, in the next room. 2nd Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop of him. \st Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 2nd Murd. Strike. \st Murd. No, we '11 reason with bim. Clar. Where art thou, keeper ? give me a cup of wine. \st Murd. You shall have win** enough, my lord, anon. Clar. In God's name, what art thou « Ist Murd. A man, as you are. Clar. But not, as I am, royal. \st Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Ist Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak ! Your eyes do menace me : why look you pale ? Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ? Both Murd. To, to, to, Clar. To murder me ? Bath Murd. Ay, ay. Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? \st Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to hira again. 2nd Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die. Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men. To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ? Where is the ev'dence that doth accuse me % ACT I. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? Before I be convict by course of law,^" To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope for any goodness, By Christ's dear blood, shed for our grievous sins, That you depart, and lay no hands on me; The deed you undertake is damnable. 1st Murd. What we will do, we do upon com- mand. ^ixd Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kings Hath in the table of his law commanded, That thou shalt do no murder : Wilt thou then Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's ? Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Ind Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee. For false forswearing, and for murder too : Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. \st Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treacherous blade, Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 'ind Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend. ls< Murd. How canst thou urge God's dread- ful law to us, When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : He sends you not to murder me for this ; For in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, O, know you, that he doth it publicly ; Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; He needs no indirect nor lawless course. To cut off those that have offended him. \st Murd. Who made thee then a bloody min- ister, When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my mge. \st Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoko us hither now to slaujjhter thee. Clar. If j'ou do love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloster ; Who shall reward you better for my life. Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Ind Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brothel Gloster hates you. Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear : Go you to him from me. Both Murd. Ay, so we will. Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship : Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. \st Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to weep. Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. \&t Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you deceive yourself; 'T is he that sends us to destroy you here. Clar. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune, And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour ray delivery. \st Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven, 2ncZ Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul. To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind. That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? — Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. Ind Murd. What shall we do ? Clar. Relent, and save your souls \st Murd. Relent! 't is cowardly, and womanish, Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, — If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,— Would not entreat for life ? — My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. As you would beg, were you in my distress. A begging prince what beggar pities not? 2nd Murd. Look behind } ou, my lord. 1018 ACT II. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 1st Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not do, [^Stahs him. I '11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [Exit., with the Body. 2nd Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de- spatch'd ! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! Re-enter first Murderer. \st Murd. How now ? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not ? By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been. 2nd Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother ! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit, \st Murd. So do not I; go, coward, as thou art. — Well, I '11 go hide the body in some hole. Till that the duke give order for his burial : And when I have my meed, I will away ; For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit ACT II, SCENE I. — Tlie Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Edward, {led in sick,) Queen Eliza- beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Bucking- ham, Grey, and Others. K. Edw. Why, so : — now have I done a good day's work : — You, peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me lience ; And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand ; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudg- ing hate ; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like I K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your king ; Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HoM. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart ! K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, — Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; — You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love lord Hastings, let liim kiss your hand ; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; — I will never more remember 1014 Our former hatred. So thrive I, and mine ! IC. Edw. Doi-set, embrace him, — Hastings, love lord marquis. Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable. Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dor. AT. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies. And make me happy in your unity. Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his bate Upon your grace, [To the Queen.] but with all duteous love Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love ! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me ! this do I beg of heaven. When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. [Embracing Riv., irk. I did ; with his contract with Lady Lucy," And his contract by deputy in France : The insatiate greediness of his desires, And his enforcement of the city wives ; His t^'inny for trifles ; his own bastardy, — As being goti, your father then in France ; And his resennblance, being not like the duke. Withal, I did infer your lineaments, — Being the right idea of your father. Both in your form and nobleness of mind : Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace. Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. And, when my oratory grew to an end, I bade them, that did love their country's good. Cry — " God save Richard, England's royal king !" Glo. And did they so ? Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statuas, or breathless stones, Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence : His answer was, — the people were not us'd To be spoke to, but by the recorder. Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again ; — " Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd ;" But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own. At lower end o' the hall, hurl'd up their caps, And some ten voices cried, " God save king Richard !" And thus I took the vantage of those few, "Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends," quoth I; " This general applause; and cheerful shout, Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard :" And even here brake off, and came away. Glo. What tongueless blocks were they 1 Would they not speak ? Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, come ? Buck. The mayor is here at hand ; intend some fear ; Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : And look you get a prayer-book in your hand. And stand between two churchmen, good my lord ; For on that ground I '11 make a holy descant ; And be not easily won to our requests ; Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. Glo. I go : And if you plead as well for them. As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt we '11 bring it to a happy issue. Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayoi knocks. [Exit Glo, 1027 ACT HI. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 8CKNK ril. Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here ; I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. — Enter ^ from the Castle, Catesby. N^ow, Catesby ! what says your lord to my request? Gate. He doth entreat your grace, ray noble lord, To visit him to-morrow, or next day. He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation ; And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd. To draw him from his holy exercise. Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke ; Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen, In deep designs, in matter of great moment, No less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his grace. Cate. I '11 signify so much unto him straight. [Exit. Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward ! He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed. But on his knees at meditation ; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines ; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body. But praying, to enrich his watchful soul : Happy were England, would this virtuous prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: But, sore, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. May. Marry, God defend, his grace should say us nay 1'^ Buck. I fear, he will : Here Catesby comes Re-enter Catesby. Now, Catesby, what says his grace ? Gate. He wonders to what end you have as- sembled Such troops of citizens to come to him. His grace not being warn'd thereof before. He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. Rack. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : Ijy heaven, we como to him in perfect love, And so once more return and tell his grace. [Exit Cate. When holy and devout religious men 1028 Are at their beads, 't is hard to draw them thence : So sweet is zealous contemplation. Enter Gloster, in a Gallery above, between Twa Bishops. Catesby returns. May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen ! Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity : And, see, a book of prayer in his hand ; True ornaments to know a holy man. — Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ear to our requests ; And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion, and right Christian zeal. Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology ; I rather do beseech you pardon me, Who, earnest in the service of my God, Neglect the visitation of my friends. But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above. And all good men of this ungoveru'd isle. Glo. I do suspect, I have done some offence, That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Buck. You have, my lord : Would it might please your grace, On our entreaties to amend your fault ! Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Cliristian land? Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that yon resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The sceptred office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts. (Which here we waken to our country's good,) The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; Her face defac'd with scars of infamy. Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants. And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the chaigv. And kingly government of this your land : Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another's gain ; But as successively, from blood to blooJ, Your right of birth, your empery, your o*u. ACT III. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 8CBNE vn. For this, cciiswrted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just suit come I to move your grace. Qlo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. Best fitteth my degree, or your condition : If, not to answer, — you might haply think, Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty. Which fondly yoa would here impose on me; If to reprove you for this suit of yours. So season'd with your faithful love to me, Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. Therefore, — to speak, and to avoid the first ; And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, — Definitively thus I answer you. Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert Unmeritable, shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away, And that my path were even to the crown, As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; Yet so much is my poverty of spirit. So mighty, and so many, my defects, Tliat I would rather hide me from my greatness, — Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — Than in my greatness covet to be hid. And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me ; (And mudi I need to help you, if need were;) Tlie royal tree hath left us royal fruit. Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time. Will well become the seat of majesty. And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay what you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars, — Which, God defend, that I should wring from him ! Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace ; But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say, that Edward is your brother's son ; So say we too, but not by Edward's wife : For first he was contract to lady Lucy, Your mother lives a witness to his vow ; And afterwards by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the king of France. These both put by, a poor petitioner, A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days, M' d« prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts To base declension and loath'd bigamy : By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners call — the prince More bitterly could I expostulate. Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This profFer'd benefit of dignity : If not to bless us and the land withal, ' Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing time, Unto a lineal true-derived course. May. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat you. Buck, Refuse not, mighty lord, this profFer'd love. Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit. Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on me? I am unfit for state and majesty : — I do beseech you, take it not amiss ; I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; As well we know your tenderness of heart. And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse. Which we have noted in you to your kindred. And equally, indeed, to all estates, — Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no. Your brother's son shall never reign our king; But we will plant some other in your throne, To the disgrace and downfal of your house. And, in this resolution, here we leave you ; — Zounds, citizens, we will eatreat no more. Glo. O ! do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. [^Exeunt Buck, and Citizens. Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept theii suit; If you deny them, all the land will rue it. Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ? Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone. But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Exit Catb Albeit against my conscience and my soul. — He-enter Bockingham, and the Mest. Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage, grave men,— Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, I must have patience to endure the load 1029 ACT IV. KING RICUARD THE THIRD. SCENE 1. But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach, All. Amen. Attend the sequel of your imposition, Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be Vour mere enforcement shall acquittance me crown'd ? From all the impure blots and stains thereof; Glo. Even when you please, since you will have For Ood be knows, and you may partly see, it so. How far I am from the desire of this. Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will grace ; say it. And so, most joyfully, we take our ieave. Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again : — Buck. Then I salute you with this royal [To the Bishops. title, — Farewell, good cousin ; — farewell, gentle friends. Long live king Richard, England's worthy king ! [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— Before the Tower. Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess OF York, and Marquis of Dorset; on' the other, Anne, Duchess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter. Duch. Who meets us here? — my niece Plan- tagenet, Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? Now, for my life, she 's wandering to the Tower, On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. — Daughter, well met. Anne. God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day 1 Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister ! Whither away ? Anne. No further than the Tower ; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there. Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we '11 enter all to- gether : Enter Brakenbury. And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. — Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave. How doth the prince, and my young son of York ? Brak. Right well, dear madam : By your pa- tience, I may not suffer you to visit them ; The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary. Q. Eliz. The king ! who 's that ? Brak. I mean, the lord protector. Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly title ! Hath he set bounds between their love, and me ? I am their mother, who shall bar me from them ? Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love theii mother : Then bring me to their sights ; I '11 bear thy blame, And take thy office from thee, on thy peril. Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so ; I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brak. Enter Stanley. Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I '11 salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. — Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster. [To the Duch, There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder ! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat. Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. Anne. Despiteful tidings 1 unpleasing news ! D&r. Be of good cheer : — Mother, how fares your grace ? Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get the« gone, ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; Thy mother's name is ominous to children ; tf thou wilt outs jip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. Go hie thee hie thee, from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, — Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam : — Take all the swift advantage of the hours ; You shall have letters from me to my son [n your behalf, to meet you on the way : Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. Duck. O ill-disporsing wind of misery ! — my accursed womb, the bed of death ; A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous ! Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste was sent. Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. — O, would to God, that the inclusive verge Of golden metal, that must round my brow, Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain !" Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; And die, ere men can say — God save the queen ! Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory ; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne, No ! why ? — When he, that is my hus- band now. Came to me, as I foUow'd Henry's corse ; When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands. Which issu'd from my other angel husband. And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish, — " Be thou," quoth I, " ac- curs'd. For making me, so young, so old a widow ! And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ; And be thy wife (if any be so mad) More miserable by the life of thee, Thaa thou hast made me by my dear lord's death ! ' Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again. Even in so short a space, my woman's heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words. And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest; For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ; I pity thy com- plaining. Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. Dor. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory ! AnTie. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee ! — [To Dor. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee ! — [To Anne Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee 1 [ToQ,. Eliz. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen. And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen." Q. Eliz. Stay yet ; look back, with me, unto the Tower. — Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes. Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls 1 Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! Rude ragged nurse 1 old sullen play-fellow For tender princes, use my babies well 1 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt, SCENE 11.—^ Room of State in the Palace Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as King upor* his Throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and Others. K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking- ham, Buck. My gracious sovereign. K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus High, bj thy advice. And thy assistance, is king Richard seated : — But shall we wear these glories for a day ? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last 1 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch. To try if thou be current gold, indeed : — Young Edward lives : — Think now what I would speak. Buck. Say on, my loving lord. K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king. Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renownea liege. 1081 ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. K.Rich. Ha! am I king? T is so: but Ed- ward lives. Buck. True, noble prince. K. Rich. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : — Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What say'st thou now ? speak suddenly, be brief. Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes : Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die ? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, dear lord. Before I positively speak in this : I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit Buck. Cate. The king is angry ; see, he gnaws his lip. [Aside. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his Throne. And unrespective boys ; none are for me. That look into me with considerate eyes ; — High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. — Boy, Page. My lord. K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt- ing gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death ? Page. I know a discontented gentleman. Whose humble means match not his haughty mind : Gold were as good as twenty orators. And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. K. Rich. What is his name ? Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man : Go, call him hither, boy. — [Exit Page. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels : Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so. — Enter Stanley. How now, lord Stanley ? what 's the news ? Stan. Know, my loving lord, The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby : rumour it abroad. That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; ins2 I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman. Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daugh- ter : — The boy is foolish,'^ and I fear not him. — Look, how thou dream'st ! — I say again, give out, That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : About it ; for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me. — [Exit Catk. I must be married to my brother's daughter. Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : — Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! Uncertain way of gain I But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. — Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel. Is thy name — Tyrrel ? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ? Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. K. Rich. Dar'st tliou resolve to kill a friend ot mine? Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two enemies. K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it ; two deep enemies. Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers. Are they that I would have thee deal upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I '11 rid you from the fear of them. Jl. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyi-rel ; Go, by this token ; — Rise, and lend thine ear : [ Whispers. There is no more but so : — Say, it is done. And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit. Re-enter Bctckingham. Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand that you did sound me in. IT. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond. Buck. I hear the news, my lord. E. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : — -Well, look to it Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise. ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. SCENB III. For which your lionour and your faith is pawn'd ; The earldom of Hereford, and the movables, Which you have promised I shall possess. K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife ; if she convej Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. Buck. What says your highness to my just re- quest ? K. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the Sixth Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king ! — perhaps Buck. My lord, K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at that time, Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom. — K. Rich. Richmond ! — When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle. And call'd it — Rouge-mont : at v/hich name, I started ; Because a bard of Ireland told me once, J 3h-'>uld not live long after I saw Richmond. Buck. My lord, K. Rich. Ay, what 's o'clock ? Buck. I am thus bold To put your grace in mind of what you promised me. K. Rich. Well, but what is 't o'clock ? Buck. Upon the stroke Of ten. K. Rich. Well, let it strike. Buck. Why, let it strike ? IC. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and ray meditation. I am not in the giving vein today. Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. IT. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. [£xeunt K. Rich, and Train. Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service With such contempt? made I him king for this ? 0, let me think on Hastings ; and be gone To Bifccknock,'"' while my fearful head is on. '[Exit. SCENE III.— TAc Same. Enter Tyrrel. T'ur. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; The most arch deed of piteous massacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and mild compassion. Wept like two children, in their death's sad story " thus," quoth Dighton, " lay the gentle babes, — " " Tlius, thus," quoth Forrest, "girdling one anothw Within their alabaster innocent arms : Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. Which in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost chang'd my mind ; But, O, the devil" — there the villain stopp'd ; When Dighton thus told on, — " we smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature. That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd. — " Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bear this tidings to the bloody king. Enter King Richard. And here he comes : — All health, my sovereign lord ! K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news ? Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then. For it is done, K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ? Tyr. I did, my lord. K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrell Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; But where, to say the truth, I do not know. K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper. When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell, till then. Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. K. Rich.- The son of Clarence have I pen'd up close ; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond^' aims At voung Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 1U33 ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. n scENi rv. And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Gatesby. Catc. My lord, K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly ? Gate. Bad news, my lord : Morton is fled to Richmond ; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh- men, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near. Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. Come, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull dehiy ; Delay leads impotent and snail-p;ic'd beggary : Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king ! Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The Same. Before the Palace. Enter Queen Margaret. Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines sliiy have I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I witness to. And will to France ; hoping, the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret ! who comes here ? Enter Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess of York. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender babes ! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings. And hear your mother's lamentation ! Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice. That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, — Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead 3 1084 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gen tie lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done ? Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost. Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave. As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here! Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? [Sitting doion by h.er Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent. Give mine the benefit of seniory, And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting dovm with them. Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine ; — I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him ; Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him : I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Rich- ard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hatli crept A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death : That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood ; That foul defacer of God's handy-work ; That excellent grand tyrant of the earth. That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls. Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our grav&s. — upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body. And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan I Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my wc-ea God witness with me, I have wept for thiiio. ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. SCENK IV. Q. Mar, Bear with me ; I am hungry for re- venge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that kili'd my Edward ; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Olarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward ; And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer ; Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, And send them thither : But at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray. To have him suddenly convey'd from hence : — Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray. That I may live to say. The dog is dead ! Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would come. That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune ; I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; The presentation of but what I was. The flattering index of a direful pageant. One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below : A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag. To be the aim of every dangerou^^ shot; A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now ? where be thy bro- thers ? Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ? Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the queen ? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this,''^ and see what noiv thou art. For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; For joyful mother, one that wails the name : For one being sued to, one that humbly sues ! For queen, a very caitifi" crown'd with care : For one that scorn'd at rae, now scorn'd of me ; For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; For one commanding all, obey'd of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about. And left thee but a very prey to time ; Having uo more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place. And dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow ? Now thy proud neck bears half my burden 'd yoke From which even here I slip my wearied head. And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- chance, — These English woes shall maice me smile in France. Q. Eliz. thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while. And teach me how to curse mine enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day ; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were. And he, that slew them, fouler than he is : Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Q. Miz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine ! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Uxit Q. Mar. Dnch. Why should calamity be full of words ? Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes. Airy succeeders of intestate joys. Poor breathing orators of miseries ! Let them have scope : though what they do im- part Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. iJuch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me. And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. IJDrum, within. I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? Duch. 0, she, that might have intercepted thee. By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be branded, if that right were right. The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown, And the dire death of ray poor sons, and brothers ? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children \ Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy bro- ther Clarence ? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ? 1085 ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ? Duck. Where is kind Hastings ? K. Rich. A flouiish, trumpets! — strike alarum, drums 1 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — [Flourish. Alarums. Either he patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. Duch. Art thou my son ? K. Rich. Ay ; I thank God, my father, and yourself. Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con- dition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof. Duch. 0, let me speak. K. Rich. Do, then ; but I '11 not hear. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother ; for I am in haste. Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have staid for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony. K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ? Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furious ; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven- turous ; Thy age contirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody. More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever grac'd me in thy company ? K. Rick. 'Faith, none but Hunjphrey Hour,'" that call'd your grace To breakfast once, forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your sight. Let me march on, and not otfend you, madam. — Strike up the drum. Duck. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. Duch . Hear me a word ; For 1 shall never speak to thee again. A". Rich. So. Duch Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- nance, 1036 Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ; Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, And never look upon thy face again. Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse ; Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more. Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st I My prayers on the adverse party fight ; And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. {Exit Q. EUz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me ; I say amen to her, \Going. K, Rick. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you. Q. EUz. I have no more sons of the royal blood. For thee to murder.: for my daughters, Richard, — They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens • And therefore level not to hit their lives. K. Rick. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. Q. EUz. And must she die for this ? O, let her live. And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed; Throw over her the veil of infamy : So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. Q. EUz. To save her life, I '11 say — she is not s»o. K. Rich. Htr life is safest only in her birth. Q. EUz. And only in that safety died her brothers. K. Rick. Lo, at their births good stars were opposite. Q. EUz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. K. Rick. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Q. EUz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny : My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. K. Rich. Y'"ou speak, as if that I had slain my cousins. Q. EUz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle cozen 'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, fit^jdoiu, Jifa KING RICHARD THE THHtD. SCENE IV. Whose hands soever lanc'cl their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt. Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, Till that ray nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, Rush f.ll to pieces on th}'^ rocky bosora. K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in ray enterprise. And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of heaven. To be discover'd, that can do rae good ? K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady. Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads ? K. Rich. N'o, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory. Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, (.'anst thou demise to any child of mine ? K. Rich. Even all I have ; ay, and rayself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee. Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love thy daughter. Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. K. Rich. What do you think ? Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul : So from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers ; And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it. K. Rich Be not so hasty to confound nay meaning : I mean, that with my soul I love thy daugliter, And do intend to make her queen of England. Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou rat in shall be her king ? K.Rich. Even he, that makes her queen : Who else should be ? Q. Eliz. What, thou ? K. Rich. Even so : What think you of it, madam ? Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her 'i K. Rich. That I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts ; th6reon engrave, Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep : Therefore present to her, — as sometirae Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. If this inducement move her not to love, Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ; Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake, Mad'st quick conveyance with her good autt Anne. K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the way To win your daughter. Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; Unless thou could'st put on some other shape. And not be Richard that hath done all this. K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her? Q. Eliz, Nay, then indeed, she cannot chooso but have thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be nov amended : Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons. To make amends, I '11 give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb. To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A gi-andara's name is little less in love. Than is the doting title of a mother ; They are as children, but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 1087 ACT IV. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. scene r». Your children were vexation to your youth, K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. But mine shall be a comfort to your age. Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, The loss, you have, is but — a son being king. last? And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's I cannot make you what amends I would. end. Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul. life last 2 Treads discontented steps in foreign soil. K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, length- This fair alliance quickly shall call home ens it. To high promotions and great dignity : Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. The king, that calls your beauteous daughter — K. Rich. Say, I, her sov'reign, am her subject wife. low. Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother; Q. Eliz, But she, your subject, loaths such Again shall you be mother to a king, sov'reignty. And all the ruins of distressful times K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Repair'd with double riches of content. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being What ! we have many goodly days to see : plainly told. The liquid drops of tears that you have shed. K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my lov- Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ; ing tale. Advantaging their loan, with interest Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a Of ten-tiraes-doublei gain of happiness. style. Go then, niiy mother, to thy daughter go ; K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too Make bold her bashful years with your ex- quick. perience ; Q. Eliz. 0, no, my reasons are too deep and Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; dead ; — Pnt in her tender heart the aspiring flame Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. Of golden sov'reignty ; acauaint the princess K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ; that With the sweet silent houii of marriage joys : is past. And when this arm of naine hath chastised Q. Eliz, Harp on it still shall I , till heart- The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, strings break. Bound with triumphant garlands will I come. K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and And lead tliy daughter to a conqueror's bed ; ray crown, — To whom I will retail my conquest won, Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. usurp'd. Q. Miz. What were I best to say ? her father's K. Rich. I swear. brother Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath. Would be her lord ? Or shall I say, her uncle ? Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour ; Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles ? Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue ; Under what title shall I woo for- thee. Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory : That God, the law, my honour, and her love. If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd. Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ? Swear then by something that thou hast not K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this wrong'd. alliance. K, Rich. Now by the world, — Q. Miz. "Which she shall purchase with still Q, Eliz. 'T is full of thy foul wrongs. lasting war. K. Rich. My father's death, — K. Etch. Tell her, the king, that may command. Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. entreats. K, Rich. Then, by myself, — Q Miz. That at her hands, which the king's Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misus'd. King forbids. K. Rich. Why then, by God,— K Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. queen. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. The unity, the king thy brother made, 1088 1 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 8CKNK IT. Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him, The imperial metal, circling now thy head, Had grac'd the tender temples of my child ; And both the princes had been breathing here. Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now ? K. Rich. By the time to come. Q. Eliz. That thou hast wrong'd in the time o'er-past ; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh- ter'd, Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age : The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'er past. K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent ! So thrive I in my dangerous attempt Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours ! Day, yield me not thy light! nor, night, thy rest ! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love. Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! In her consists my happiness, and thine ; Without her, follows to myself and thee, Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : It cannot be avoided, but by this ; It will not be avoided, but by this. Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,) Be the attorney of my love to her. Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish found in great designs. Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus ? K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself? K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong yourself. Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. K, Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them : Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [Kissing her. Exit (^.'E.u.z Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman !" How now ? what news ? Enter Ratcliff; GkfE.SBY following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 'T is thought, that Richmond is their admiral ; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk : — Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby ; where is he ? Gate. Here, my good lord. K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient hasto K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither : Post to Salis- bury ; When thou com'st thither, — Dull unmindful vil- lain, [To Cate. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke ? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure. What from your grace I shall deliver to him. K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby ; — Bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Cate. I go. [Exit. Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury ? K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go ? Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter Stanley. K. Rich. My mind is chang'd. — Stanley, what news with you? Stan. None good, my liege, to please you witli the hearing ; Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 1089 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. SCBNS IV. K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad ! WTiat need'st thou run so many miles about, When thou iiiMy'st tell thy tale the nearest way ? Once more, what news ? Stan. Richmond is on the seas. K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him ! VVhite-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. K. Rich. Well, as you guess ? Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. Is the chair empty ? is the sword unsway'd ? Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ? What heir of York is there alive, but we ? And who is England's king, but great York's heir ? Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ? Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, Von cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Ihou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. Stan. No, mighty liege ; therefore mistrust me not. K. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him buck ? Where be thy tenants, and thy followers ? Are they not uow upon the western shore. Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships ? Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. K. Rich. Cold friends to me: What do they in the north. When they should serve their sovereign in the west? Stan. They "have not been commanded, mighty king : Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, I '11 muster up my friends ; and meet your grace, Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond : I will not trust you, sir. Stan. Most mighty sovereign. You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; I never was, nor never will be false. K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, leave behind 1040 Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart b% firm. Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. \JExit Stan. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in I>evon- shire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates, are in arms. Enter another Messenger. 2nd Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms ; And every hour more competitors Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. Enter another Messenger. Zrd Mess. My lord, the array of great Bucking- ham — K. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of death ? [lie strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3rd Mess. The news 1 have to tell your majesty, Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; And he himself wander'd away alone. No man knows whither. K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy : There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 3rd Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege. Enter another Messenger. ah Mess. Sir Thomas Level, and lord marquis Dorset, 'T is said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness, — The Br.etague navy is dispers'd by tempest : Richmond, in Doi-setshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham Upon his party : he, mistrusting them, Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in arms ; ACT V. KING KIOHARD THE THIRD. SCENE i-n. If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. Enter Catesby. Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken. That is the best news: That the earl of Rich- mond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford/* Is colder news, but yet they must be told. K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ; while we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost : — Some one take order, Buckingham be brought To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me. \Exeunt. SCENE v.— ^ Room in Lord Stanley's House. Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick. Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me : — That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold : If I revolt, off goes young George's head ; The fear of that withholds my present aid. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now ? Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, ii Wales. Stan. What men of name resort to him ? Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned spldier ; Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; And many other of great fame and worth : And towards London do they bend their course, K by the way they be not fought withal. Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord ; commend me to him ; Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [Gives Papers to Cbbis.] [Exeunt, 4 ACT Y. SCENE L— Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with Bucking- ham, led to Execution. Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him? Sher. No, my good loid ; therefore be patient. Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice ; If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock ray destruction ! — This is AU-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? Sher. It is, my lord. Buck. Why, then AU-Souls' day is my body's doomsday. This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found False to his children, or his wife's allies : This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 181 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted ; This, this All-Souls* day to my fearful soul. Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. That high All-seer which I dallied with. Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head. And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms : Thus Margaret's curse falls heavj on my neck, — " When he," quoth she, " shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess." — Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. [Exeunt Buck., dkc. SCENE XL — Plain near Tam worth. Enter, with Drum and Colours, Richmond, Ox- ford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Heb- BERT, and Others, vnth Forces, marching. Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, 1041 Aw'T V. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. sfjENK in. Bniis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we march'd on without impediment ; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement, I'he reckless, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine Lies now even in the centre of this isle, Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : From Tarn worth thither, is but one day's march. In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends. To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war. Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide. Herh. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for fear ; Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. R'lckm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march : True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings. Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. [Exeunt. SCENE HI.— Bosworth Field. Enter King Richard, and Forces ; the Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and Others. K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field. — My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk, Nor. Here, most gracious liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks : Ha! must we not ? Nv^. We must both give and take, my loving lord. ■ K Rich. Up with my tent : Here will I lie to-night ; [^Soldiers begin to set up the King's Tent. But where, to-morrow ? — Well, all 's one for that. — Who hath descried the number of the traitors ? Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that ac- count: 1042 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength Which they upon the adverse faction want. Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen. Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; — Call for some men of sound direction : — Let 's want no discipline, make no delay ; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. Enter, on the other side of the Field, Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. Sotne of the Soldiers joi^cA Richmond's Tent. Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And, by the bright track of his fiery car. Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my stand- ard. — Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; — I '11 draw the form and model of our battle. Limit each leader to his several charge. And part in just proportion our small power. My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon, — And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me : The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment ; — *' Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent : — Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ; Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know ? Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, (Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) His regiment lies half-a-mile at least South from the mighty power of the king. Richm. If without peril it be possible. Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him. And g^ve him from me this most needful note. Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I '11 undertake it ; And 80, God give you quiet rest to-night I Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business ; In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. [Theg withdraw into the Tent. Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norfolk, Ratcliff, and Catesby. K. Rich. What is 't o'clock ? Cate. It 's supper time, my lord: It 's nine o'clock.'" jBT. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — G ve me some ink and paper. — KING RICHARD THE THIRL). 8CKNE III. What, is my beaver easier than it was ? — And all my armour laid into my tent ? Cate. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge ; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. Nor. I go, my lord. K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. Nor. I warrant you, my lord. \^Exit. K. Rich. Ratcliff, Rat. My lord ? K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms To Stanley's regiment ; bid him bring his power Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall * Into the blind cave of eternal night. — Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch ;* [To Gate. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — Look that my staves be sound,"" and not too heavy. Tatcliff, Rat. My lord ? K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Northumberland ?^'' Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time,*' from troop to troop, Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine : I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. — So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ? Rat. It is, my lord. K. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. About the mid of night, come to ray tent And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. [K. Rich, retires into his Tent. Exeunt Rat. and Gate. Richmond's Tent opens, and discovers him and his Ofiicers, OM. F031 A- B:ORS.h ACT : , t €.'.„Jc/t>vson.. iVy ii Cf ifi t/,^ C^'c'/ajr e/" t/u-f^'Ctnt^M ACT V. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. SCENE IV. Daring an opposite to every danger ; His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death : Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! Alarum. Enter King Richard. K. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I '11 help you to a horse. K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die : I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : — A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse I [Exeunt. Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond ; and exeunt, fighting. Retreat, and flourish. Then enter Richmond, Stanley, hearing the Crown, with divers other Lords, and Forces. Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victo- rious friends ; The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee 1 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal ; Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all!— But, tsll me first, is young George Stanley living ? Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town ; Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Fer- rers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, That in submission will return to us ; And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament," We will unite the white rose with the red : — Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — What traitor hears me, and says not, — amen ? England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire ; All this divided York and Lancaster, Divided, in their dire division. — O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God's fair ordinance conjoin together ! And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,) Enrich the time to come with smooth -fac'd peace, With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce"* these bloody days again. And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! Let them not live to taste this land's increase. That would with treason wound this fair land's peace ! Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again ; That she may long live here, God say — Amen I [Exeunt 1047 lOTES TO mm EICHARD THE THIRD. ' Made ghrwut tunvmer by thia lun of York, Edward the Fourth adopted a blaring san as his cogni- sance, in memory of the three sunt which are said to have appeared to him at Mortimer's Cross, before his victory at Towton. See Henry the Sixth, Part III., act ii., so. 1. So in Drayton's Miseries of Queen Margaret — Three suns were seen that instant to appear, "Which soon again shut themselves up in one ; Eeady to buckle as the armies were. Which this brave duke took to himself alone, &c. According to tradition, such phenomena frequently her- alded in remarkable events. * Toys, i. e., fancies, freaks of imagination. * We are the queen's objects. That is, not only her subjects, but her creatures, her slaves ; beings of no regard in her eyes. « Or else Uefor you, i. e., be imprisoned in your stead. ^ OyJie hath kept an evil diet Jang. Edward's death was supposed to be hastened by his ex- cessive passion at the treachery of the French king ; but his constitution was undermined by long indulgence in dissipation, and he died after an illness of a few weeks, on the 9th of April, 1483, in the twenty-first year of his reign, and the forty-first or forty-second of his age. • Poor Jcey-cold figure of a holy king ! Key-cold is synonymous with a word at present in use, stone-cold. A key, on account of the coldpess of the metal of which it is made, is frequently employed to stop a slight bleeding. » lb his unhappiness. His unhappy dispositim, natural tendency to mischief. ■ O, gentlemen, see, see I dead Henry's wounds Open their congedPd mouths, and bleed afresh! This alludes to a superstition once universally believed, that the wounds of a murdered man opened and bled af^resh at the touch or sight of the murderer ; as though heaven endowed the dead with power to indicate the as- sassin. Numerous allusions to this idle but not unnatural fancy are to be found in our old writers. Thus, in Arden of Feversham — The more I sound his name, the more he bleeds : This blood condemns me, and in gushing forth Speaks as it falls, and asks me why I did it. • And fall somewhat into a slower method. By our old authors, quick was often used for lively, and slower for serious. •" Repair to Grosby-place. Crosby-place is now Crosby-square, in Bishopsgate-street. The house in which Richard there resided was built in 1466 by Sir John Crosby, an alderman of London. Stow describes it as " very large and beautiful, and the highest at that time in London." The ancient hall of this build- ing is still existing ; and, after having been put to va.-ious uses — converted at one time into a dissenting chapel, and at another into a warehouse — it has lately been restored in imitation of its ancient splendour, and now serves as a concert and lecture-hall. » StabVd in my angry mood at Tewkesbury. "Here," says Mr. Malone, "we have the exact time of this scene ascertained, namely, August, 1471. King Ed- ward, however, is in the second act introduced dying. That king died in April, 1483; so there is an interval be- tween this and the next act of almost twelve years. Clar- ence, who is represented in the preceding scene as com- mitted to the Tower before the burial of King Henry the Sixth, was in fact not confined or put to death till seven years afterwards, March, 1477-8." »' A beggarly denier, i. e., the twelfth part of a French sous. " 27ie Countess Richmond. The mother of the earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry the Seventh, on the death of her first husband, Edmund Tudor, was married to Lord Stanley. " Ah, gentle villain, i. e., high bom villain, of genti* blood NOTES TO KING RICHARD THE THIRD. j» Jf^ert thou not banishtd on pain of death / After the battle of Tewkesbury, in May, 1471, Queen Margaret was confined in the Tower, from whence she was ransomed by her father Eeignier, in 1475 ; she re- turned to France, and died there in 1482. The present Bcene is in 1477 or 1478, and her introduction is an his- torical anachronism. " Covld all but answer /or that peevish hrat! Mr. M. Mason would read — could all not, &c<, an emen- dation which seems essential to the sense of the passage. " Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog / Eichard's arms bore the device of a boar ; Margaret, in allusion to this, contemptuously calls him hog, and adds tie epithet rooting to signify his destructive nature. " With that grim ferryman. Charon, who is fabled to have rowed the souls of the dead over the rivers Styx and Acheron to the infuruai regions. He was represented as a robust old man, ex- tremely ugly, havnig piercing eyes, and a long white beard. As he demanded an obolus lor uis trouble, it became a custom among the ancients to place a piece of money under the tongue of a corpse to satisfy the wishes of its grim guide. J» The costard, i. o.. the head. '"' Before. I be convict Oy coune of law. In attributing the death ot Clarenofl to Richard, Shakes- peare followed the current reports of his own time. But Clarence was not put to death without trinl or condemna- tion; he was tried and found guilty by his peers, and re- ceived sentence on the 7th of February. On the 18th of the same month, or. according to other authorities, on the 11th of March, i^ was reported that the di:ke had died in the Tower, A '•nmour ran that h« h.nd jcen murdered, and suspicion fell upon the duke of Gloster. bui u>./ evi- dence exists to nrove him the criminal. ■" yi* forfeit, sovereign, if my strvanta itfe. Be means the remission of the forfeit. « MJnter the JMictw-ss ot fork.. Cecily, daughter of I'alph Neville, tirsi Earl of West- moreland, and widow of Kic larrl Duko of i'ork, who was killed at the battle of VVakefiela, in i46o. She survived her husband thirty-five years. «' Forthwith from Ludloio the young prince be fetched. At the death of King Edward, '.he young prince, then a boy of thirteen, was living at Ludlow Cattle, under the care of his maternal uncle the Earl of Rivers. He had been sent there by the king to see justice done in the marches ; and by the authority o*" his presence, to restrain the outrages and savage conduct of the Welsh- men. «< Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Stratford ; And at Northampton they do rest to-night, Stony-Stratford is nearer to I^ondon than Northampton; 132 but Richard, who was in the marches of Scotland when he heard of Edward's death, hastened to London, and arrived at Northampton the day that his nephew reached Stony Stratford, from which place he carried the young king back to Northampton, where he treacherously seized Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, and Hawse. »» I say, without characters, fam^ lives long. Thus, lik* the formal vice, iniquity, f Aside. I moralize two meanings in one word. The prince having heard part of the former line, asks Richard what he says ? — who, to deceive him, preserves in his reply the latter words of the line, but substitutes others at the beginning of it, of a different import from those he had uttered. He then adds to himself, " 1 moralize," that is, refine upon what I have uttered ; convey two meanings in one word or sentence. 'She formal vice was the buffoon or jester of the old English interludes, who was probably an equivocator, hiding profane or obscene remarks under a mock air of morality. "" For we to-m/rrrow hold divided eouneiU. That is, we hold a private consultation, separate from the known and public council. The latter was held in the Tower, but a private council of Eichard's friends met con- stantly at his residence in Crosby-place. ^ To-night the boar had rased off his helm. By the boar is meant Gloster, from his having a boar for his cognizance. The word rased, or rashed, wo^s used to describe the injuries done by a boar, such as tearing and mangling with hia tusks. «6 Enter Ratclif, with a guard, conducting Rivers, Grey, dtc. The Earl of Rivers was the Queen's brother ; Sir Richard Grey, her son; she has been deservedly pitied for losing her children, but the deaths of her other kindred appear to have been forgotten in the general slaughters and troubles of the lime. »♦ And wants but nomination. Phat is, the only tiling wanting, is the appointment of a particular day for the ceremony. » Thr't iimss to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble. i or a horse to stariible was anciently esteemed an omen 01 evil to the rider. So, in The Honest Lawyer :—'^ Ami just at the threshold Master Bromley stumbled. Signs I signs !" 31 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, in rusty armour, marvel- lous ill-favoured. Why Gloster and Buckingham should enter in this sin- gular apparel, does not readily appear from the play, but the reason is thus clearly given in Holinshed, who was Shakespeare's historical authority :—" The Protector, im- mediately after dinner, intending to set some colour upon the matter, sent in all haste for many substantial men out of the citie into the Tower; and at their coming, himselfe, with the Duke of Buckingham, stood harnessed in old ill- faring briganders, such as no man should wcene that they would vouchsafe to have put upon their backes, except that some sudden necessitie had constreined them." 1049 NOTES TO KING RICHARD THE THIRD. " / mean his conversation with Shore's wife. That is, familiar intercourse. Tlie phrase, criminal con- versation, is still in use '5 Only for saying — he would make his son Heir to the crown. This is an historical fact; the object of this shameful granny was one Walker, a substantial citizen and grocer, at the Crown, in Cheapsicle, whom Edward caused to be hanged for his innocent quibble. s* To draw the irats of Clarence out of sight. The children of Clarence were two, Edward and Marga- ret ; Edward, Earl of Warwick, was confined by Kichard in Sheritf-hutton Castle, and afterwards beheaded by Henry tlie Seventh, on account of his superior title to the throne. Margaret was married to Sir Richard de la Pole ; Bh'e was created Countess of Salisbury by lleury the Eighth, and finally condemned to the scatibld at the age of seventy, by that regal murderer, from motives of a jealous policy. She refused to submit to the sentence, and with lier grey hair streaming down her shoulders, ran wildly about the scaffold, followed by the executioner, who struck at her several times with his axe, and at length succeeded in severing her head from her body. She was the last mem- ber of the house of Lancaster. =* I did ; with his contract with Lady Lncy. This lady was not the wife, but the mistress of Edward; jut Comiues, a contemporary historian, says that Edward, previous to his marriage with Lady Grey, was married by the Bishop of Batli to Lady Eleanor Butler, widow of Lord Butler of Sudeley, and daughter to the great Earl of Shrews- bury. On this ground the children of Edward were de- clared illegitimate by the only parliament assembled by Kiohard the Third. *'^ God defend, his grace should say us nay / This obsequious mayor was Edmund Shaw, brother to Doctor Shaw, whom Kichard had employed to prove his title to the crown from the pulpit at Saint Paul's Cross. -' JVere red-Jujt steel to sear me to the brain ! She alludes to the ancient mode of punishing a regicide or other notorious criminal, by placing a crown of iron, heated red-hot, upon his head. In some of the monkish accounts of a place of future torment, a burning crown is appropriated to those who have deprived any lawful mon- arch of his kingdom. *« WitJi, a week of teen^ i. e., of sorrow. »» The loy is foolish. The son of Clarence, from long confinement and a total oeglect o/" his education, became idiotic. " To Brecknock. To the Castle of Brecknock, la Wales, where Backing- ham's estate lay. *» The liretagne Bichmond. He thus scornfully alludes to Richmond, because that 1060 prince resided for a length of time in a kind of honour- able custody at the court of Francis the Second, Duke of Bretagne. *» Decline all this, i. e., run through all this from first to last- *' Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour. Many conjectures have been penned respecting the partj here alluded to. Malone says, " 1 believe nothing more than a quibble was meant. In our poet's twentieth sonnet we find a similar conceit; a quibble between hues (colours) and Hughes (formerly spelt Hicoes), the person addressed." ■** Melenting fool, and sJtallow, changing woman. " Such," says Steevens, " was the real character of this queen-dowager, who would have married her daughter tc King Kichard, and did all in her power to alienate the Mar- quis of Dorset, her son, from the Earl of Kichmond." <6 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford. Eichmond landed at Milford Haven with an army not exceeding five thousand men, and of these, not above two thousand were English. <• Keeps his regiment, i. e., remains with it. " Ws nine o'clock. The quarto reads, — it is six of the clock; full supper time. This was more in accordance with the customs of the period, when, indeed, to sup at nine would have been a remarkable incident. At this time breakfast was usually taken at seven o'clock in the morning, dinner at ten, and supper at four in the afternoon. A fourth meal, entitled liveries, consisting of a cold collation, was taken in bed about eight or nine in the evening. *8 Give me a watch. Eichard may request either an instrument to toll the time, a guard for his tent, or a watch-light or candle to burn by him. Mr, Steevens inclines to the latter interpre- tation, and thinks a particular kind of candle, marked out into sections, was here meant. As each portion of this kind of candle occupied a certain time in burning, it sup- plied the place of the more modern instrument by which we measure the hours. ** Look thai iny staves be sound. Staves are the wood of the lances. As it was usual to carry several of them iuto the field, the lightness of ^em was a matter of great consequence. 60 Saw^st thou t/te melanclioly Lord Northumberland t Richard suspected Northumberland, and oalla him melancholy because he seemed apathetic in his cause. Ho had good reason for his doubts, for Northumberland stood idoof from the contest, and afterwards joined the victor. " Cock-shut tijne, i. o., twilight. NOTES TO KING RICHARD THE THIRD. '^^ By thee was punched full of deadly holes. The inelegant expression, punched, appears not to have been so common in our poet's time as at present, as It is ftLso employed by Chapman in his version of the sixth Iliad:— With a goad hepuncKd each furious dame. " ThU and Saint George to loot. That is, this is the order of our battle, which promises success ; and beyond this is the protection of our patron uint. ** And then as we luive to' en the sacrarMnt. So, in Holinshed : — " The carle himselfe first tooke a cor- porall oth on his honor, promising that incontinent after he shuld be possessed of the crowne and dignitie of the realme of England, he would be conjoined in matrimonie with the ladle Elizabeth, daughter to King Edward the Fourth." " Abate the edge of traitors, gracions Zord, That would reduce To (ibate, is to lower, depress, subdue. Heduee, is to bring back, an obsolete sense of the word. lOftl ling Ifnri] tjj> Cigjitji. T^HIS drama commences in the twelfth year of Henry's reign, with the arrest of the duke of Buck ingham, in April, 1521, and terminates with the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, on the 7th o Beptoinber, 1533; thus including a period of twelve years. Queen Katharine lived until 1536, three years after the birth of Elizabeth ; but, for the sake of dramatic effect, the poet anticipates her death. Anne Bullen had been bred in the gay court of France, and when she attracted th** notice of Henry, was in her twentieth year. Beautiful, accomplished, graceful, and vivacious, the amorous monarch would have made her his mistress, but to this the young lady would not submit ; and it is supposed that her resolution in this respect was probably strengthened by a statement that Henry had seduced her sister, and then abandoned her for the embraces of another. But in encouraging the addresses of Henry, and in listening to proposals which she knew could oniy be fulfilled by the degradation of the queen, her mistress, Anne was guilty of a greater crime than she would have committed in becoming the paramour of the tyrant. But the punishment of her ingratitude hung trembling over her devoted head — her career of triumph was but a brief one. Not four months after the death of Katharine, Anne Bullen was doomed. Henry's libidinous gaze was fascinated by one of her maids of honour, and he accused the queen of adultery, a crime of which it is most probable that she was innocent — but the freedom and gaiety of her manners were twisted into evidence against her, and the royal profligate signed the warrant for her death. The beautiful neck which he had embraced was mangled on the scaffold, and the luxuriant tresses which had been his delight and admiration dat bled in blood. Anne had been a queen but three years ; on the day after her execu- tion, or rather murder, the pampered ruffian married Jane Seymour. The two most finished characters in this play are Queen Katharine and the Cardinal Woisey- Shakespeare robes the former with great dignity, both of mind and person. She is a perfect model of a noble matron ; patient towards her sovereign and oppressor, yet jealous of her own dignity, and in her deepest dejection relying upon eternal justice — Heaven is above all yet ; tliere sita a Judge, That no king can corrupt. Her death-scene is exceedingly affecting; her generous care for her dependents, touching and womanly ; the poet endeavours to compensate for her trials and sufferings here, by showing her, through the means of a dream, at the very portals of paradise. Wolsey is a singular compound of opposing qualities, grasping, yet profusely liberal ; supercilious and haughty, yet parasitical and mean ; cour- ageous and capable in prosperity, yet timid and helpless in adversity. His talent for magnificence amounts to genius ; he gives way to pleasure, is gay and cheerful ; he covers his craftiness with an air of blunt frankness. The avarice of the king urged Wolsey to impose unprecedented taxes on the people, and paved the way for his fall. Then he is at once crushed, and grovels in the earth — the proud cardinal, with his princely palaces and his kingly retinue, sinks instantly into the abject and supplicating priest. Then follows his compelled and questionable repentance, and in the anguish of 1058 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. his spirit he utters that memorable sentence which Shakespeare, recognising as earnest and passionate poetry which no art could exalt, took from the lips of the fallen statesman, " Had I but served my God as diligently as I have served the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs." The noble advice which Wolsey, after his fall, gives to Cromwell, had not been the guide of his own C'tnduct, but it is natural in a declining statesman to preach lofty principles, and even to persuade himself that he had practised them. The two opposite estimates of his character by Queen Katharine and hei attendant Griffith, after the cardinal's death, are profound analyzations of a remarkable mind, and show what opposing portraits of the same object may be taken from different points of view. After praise and blame cometh the truth, and Shakespeare has given us a singularly accurate picture of the luxurious and powerful cardinal. Whatever were Wolsey's faults, it is probable that he re- strained the tyranny of the kmg, for Henry did not plunge into his revolting cruelties until after the death of his great minister. One thing which strikes the reader of this drama is the slavish meanness of the nobility, in comparison with their turbulent defiance of the crown during the reign of the peaceful Henry the Sixth. Indeed this play has a far more modern air and appearance than its predecessors ; at the period to which it refers, society was in a transition state ; the iron barons of the old age had passed away, and the birth of our intellectual era was rapidly approaching. I cannot conclude this notice without directing attention to the exquisite adulation to Queen Elizabeth, with which it terminates ; a piece of flattery which may be excused on account of its ele- gance and appropriateness. The few lines introduced into it, in eulogy of James the First, are sup- posed to be the work of Ben Jonson. Malone attributes the production of this play to the year 1601 — two years previous to the death the poet's patron, Elizabeth. 1064 PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Eighth. Appears, Act I. bc. 2 ; sc. i. Act 11. sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Act III. BC. 2. Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Cardinal Wolsey. Appears, Act I. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1 ; sc. 2. Cardinal Campeius. Appears, Act II. sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1. Capucius, Ambassador to the Emperor Charles. Appears, Act IV. sc. 2. Cranmer, an Agent of the King, afterwards Arch- bishop q/" Canterbury. ars, Act V. sc. 1 ; sc. 2 ; sc. 4. Duke of Norfolk. Appears, AclLscl. Actll. sc. 2. Act III. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 4. Duke of Buckingham. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc. 1. Duke of Suffolk. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. sc 2. Act III. sc. 2. Act IV. PC. 1. Act V. so. 1 ; sc. 2 ; so. 4. Earl of Surrey. Appears, Act III. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 2. Gardiner, a Creature of Wolsey's, afterwards Bishop o/" Winchester. Afpears, Act 11. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc, 1 ; sc. 2. Bishop of Lincoln. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Lord Abergavenny. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Lord Sands. Appears, Act I. sc. b .; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1. Sir Henry Guildford. Appears, Act I. sc. 4. Sir Ihomas Lovell. Appturt, Aot i .*o. 3 ; no. 8 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. «c 2. Act V. sc. 1. !^m Antony Denny. Appears, A3t V. sc. 1. Sir Nicholas Vaux. Appears, Act II. sc. 1. Cromwell, an Attendant on Wolsey. Appears, Act III. sc. 2. Act V. sc. 2. Lord Chamberlain. Appears, Act I. sc. 3 ; sc. 4. Act II. sc. 2 ; sc. 8. Act HL sc. 2. Act V. sc. 2. Lord Chancellor. ^^«a?'», Act IV. bs. 1. ActV. BC. 2. Griffith, Gentleman- Usher to Queen Katharine. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 2. Other Gentlemen. Appear, Act II. sc. 1. Act IV. so. 1. Secretaries to Wolsey. Appeal, Act I. so. 1. Doctor Butts, Physician to the King. Appears, Act V. so. 2. Garter King-at-Arms. Appears, Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 4. Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Brandon and a Sergeant-at-Arms. Appear, Act I. sc. 1. Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Appears, Act V. sc. 2. Porter and his Man. Appear, Act V. sc. 8. A Crier. Appears, Act II. so. 4. Page to the Bishop of Winchester. Appears, Act V. so. i . Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, after- wards divorced. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc. 2. Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honour^ afterwards Queen. Appears, Act I. sc. 4. Act II. sc. 3. Act IV. so. 1. An Old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen. Appears, Act II. sc. 3. Act V. bo. 1. Patience, an Attendant on Queen Katharine. Appears, Act III. sc. 1. Act IV. sc. 2. Several Lords and Ladies, Women attending upon the Queen, Spirits which appear to her, Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Chiefly in London and Westminster once at Kimbolton. 1055 ling Ifnrij tlje Cigjitji. PEOLOGUE. I COME no more to make you laugh ; things now, That boar a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; The subject will deserve it. Such, as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those, that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree. The play may pass ; if they be still, and willing, I '11 undertake, may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they. That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow tn a long motely coat, guarded with yellow,' Will be deceiv'd : for, gentle hearers, know To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, (To make that only true we now intend,) Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are knowa The first and happiest hearers of the town. Be sad, as we would make ye : Think, ye see The very persons of our noble story. As they were living ; think, you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng, and sweat, Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery ! And, if you can be merry then, I '11 say, A man may weep upon his wedding day.* ACT I. SCENE I. — ^London. An Ante-chamber in the Palace. Enter the Duke of NoRroLK, at one Door ; at the other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord Abergavenny. Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have you done, Since last we saw in France ? Nor. I thank your grace: Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. Buck. An untimely ague 1066 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Arde. Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde : I was then present, saw them saliite on horseback ; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together ; Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one ? Bwk. All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. Nor. Then you lost ACT. I. KING nEXRY THE EIGHTH. SCENB I. The view of earthly glory : Men might say, Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married To one above itself.^ Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last, Made former wonders it's : To-day, the French, All clinquant,^ all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain, India: every man, that stood, Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubims, all gilt : the madams too. Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this mask Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings. Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. As presence did present them ; him in eye. Still him in praise : and, being present both, 'T was said, they saw but one ; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns (For so they phrase them,) by their heralds chal- leng'd The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believ'd.* Jiuck. O, you go far. JVor. As I belong to worship, and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view ; the ofHce did Distinctly his full function. Buck. Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess ? Hor. One, certes, that promises no element" In such a business. Buck. I pray you, who, my lord? Nor. All tliis was order'd by the good dis- cretion Of the right reverend cardinal of York. Buck. The devil speed him I no man's pie is free'd from his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities ? I wonder, That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, And keep it from the earth. 1-33 Nor. Surely, sir, There 's in him stuff that puts him to these ends : For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grac/j Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied To eminent assistants, but, spider-like. Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note. The force of his own merit makes his way ; A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. Aber. I cannot tell What heaven hath given him, let some grarei eye Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him : Whence has he that ? If not from hell, the devil is a niggard ; Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. Buck. Why the devil. Upon this French going-out, took he upon him. Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file Of all the gentry ; for the most part such Too, whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon : and his own letter. The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in he papers.' Aber. I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sicken'd their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. Buck, O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on them For this great journey. What did this vanity. But minister communication of A most poor issue ? Nor. Grievingly I think. The peace between the French and lis not values The cost that did conclude it. Buck. Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd,' was A thing inspir'd ; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest. Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on 't. Noi'. Which is budded out -, For France, hath flaw'dthe league, and hain «♦- tach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 1067 AOr I. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. Aher. Is it therefore The ambassador is silenc'd ? Nor. Marry, is 't. Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchas'd At a superfluous rate ! Buck. Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. Nor. 'Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together : to consider further, that What his high hatred would effect, wants not A minister in his power : You know his nature, That he 's revengeful ; and I know, his sword Hath a sharp edge : it 's long, and, it may be said, It reaches far ; and where 't will not extend. Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel. You '11 find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock, '"bat I advise your shunning. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, {the Purse borne before him,) certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with Papers. The Cardinal in his Passage fixeth his Eye on Buckingham, and Bucking- ham on him, both full of disdain. Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor ? ha ? Where 's his examination ? \»t Seer. Here, so please you. Wol. Is he in person ready ? 1st Seer. Ay, please your grace. Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buckingham Snail lessen this big look. [Exeunt Wol. and Train. Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Out- worths a noble's blood.^ Nor. AVhat, are you chaf d ? Ask God for temperance ; that 's the appliance only. Which your disease requires. Utick. I read in his looks Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd Me, as his abject object : at this instant 1058 He bores me with some trick : He 's gone to the king ; I '11 follow, and out-stare him. ^ Nor. Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 't is you go about : To climb steep hills, Requires slow pace at first : Anger is like A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way. Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you : be to yourself As you would to your friend. Buck. I '11 to the king ; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim, There 's difference in no persons. Nor. Be advis'd ; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: We may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at. And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er. In seeming to augment it, wastes it? Be advis'd; I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself; If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. Buck. Sir, I am thankful to you ; and I '11 go along By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but From sincere motions,) by intelligence. And proofs as clear as founts in July, when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. Nor. Say not, treasonous. Buck. To the king I '11 say 't ; and make mv vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous. As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief. As able to perform it : his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) Only to ^low his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview. That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glafcs Did bieak i' the rinsing. Nor. 'Faith, and so it did. Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cimning cardinal The articles o' the combinaticn drew. As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified, -' I ACT I. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SCBNB n. As he cried, Tb^j ,et be: to as much end, As give a crutch to the dead : But our count- cardinal Has done this, and 't is well ; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, (Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor. Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, (For 't was, indeed, his colour ; but he came To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation : His fears were, that the interview, betwixt England and France, might, through their amity. Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menac'd him : He privily Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the emperor Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted,. Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made. And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ; — That he would please to alter the king's course. And break the foresaid, peace. Let the king know, (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. Nor. I am sorry To hear this of him ; and could wish, he were Something mistaken in 't. Buck. No, not a syllable ; I do pronounce him in that very shape, He shall appear in proof. Enter Brandon *, a Sergeant-at-Arms before him, and two w three of the Guard. Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it Serff. Sir, My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. Btick. Lo you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me ; I shall perish Under device and practice. Bran. I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present : 'T is his highness' pleasure. You shall to the Tower. Buck. It will help me nothing. To plead mine innocence ; for that die is on me, Whicb makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things ! — I obey.— my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The king [To Abeb. Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. Aber. As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd. Bran. Here is a warrant from The king, to attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — Buck. So, so ; These are the limbs of the plot : No more, I hope. Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins ? Bran. He Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great car dinal Hath show'd him gold : my life is spann'd already 1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ; Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on. By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The Cmincil- Chamber. Cornets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, Officers, and Attendants. The King enters leaning on the Cardinal's Shoulder. K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it. Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level Of a fuU-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks To you that chok'd it. — Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person I '11 hear him his confessions justify ; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. \The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council take their several Places. The Card, places himself under the King's Feet on his right Side. A Noise within, crying, " Room for the Queen.''^ Enter the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk : she kneels. The Kino riseth from his State, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him. Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel ; I am a suitor. 1069 Acrr L KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SCBNB n. 1 1 K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : — Half your suit Never name to us ; you have half our power : The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; Repeat your will, and take it. Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself; and, in that love, Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. K. Hen, Lady mine, proceed. Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects" Are in great grievance : there have been com- missions Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter-on Of these exactions, yet the king our master, (Whose honour heaven shield from soil !) even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The ties of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. Nor. Not almost appears, It doth appear : for, upon these taxations. The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them 'longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And Danger serves among them. K. Hen. Taxation ! Wherein ? and what taxation? — My lord cardinal, You that are blam'd for it alike with us. Know you of this taxation ? Wol. Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file Where others toll steps with me. Q. Kath. No, my lord, You know no more than others: but you frame Things, that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions. Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear them, 1060 The back is sacrifice to the load. They say, They are devis'd by you : or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. K. Hen. Still exaction ! The nature of it ? In what kind, let 's know, Is this exaction ? Q. Kath. I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's- griei Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay ; and the pretence for this Is nam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold mouths : Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them ; their curses now. Live where their prayers did ; and it 's come to pass. That tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would, your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. K. Hen. By my life, This is against our pleasure. Wol. And for me, I have no further gone in this, than by A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know My faculties, nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 'T is but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stinl Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever. As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no furtlier Than vainly longing. What we oft do best. By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 'For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State statues only. K. Hen. Things done well. And with a care, exempt themselves from fear ; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission ? I believe, not any. ACT I. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SCENE II. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick tliem in our will. Sixth part of each ? A trebling contribution Why, we take, From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county, Where this is question 'd, send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission : Pray, look to 't ; I put it to your care. Wol. A word with you. [To the Secretary. Let there be letters writ to every shire. Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd. That, through our intercession, this revokement And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. [JExit Secretary. Enter Surveyor. Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Buck- ingham Is run in your displeasure. K. Hen. It grieves man)'^ : The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker. To nature none more bound ; his training such. That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete. Who was enroirj 'raongst wonders, and when we. Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us ; you shall bear (This was his gentleman in trust,) of him Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount The fore-recited practices ; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. Wol. Stand forth ; and with bold spirit relate what you. Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the duke of Buckingham. K. Hen. Speak freely. Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech. That if the king Should without issue die, he 'd carry it so To make the sceptre his : These very words I have heard him utter to his son-in-law. Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menac'd Revenge upon the cardinal. Wol. Please your highness, not( This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant ; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. K. Hen. Speak on : How grounded he his title to the crown. Upon our fail ? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught ? Surv. He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor ; who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. K. Hen. How know'st thou this ? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech amongst the Londoners Concerning the French journey : I replied. Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious., To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'T was the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted, 'T would prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk ; " that oft," says he, " Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment : Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke, My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensu'd, — Neither the king, nor his heirs, (Tell you the duke) shall prosper : bid him strive To gain the love of the commonalty ; the duke Shall govern England." Q. Kath. If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your ofBea On the complaint o' the tenants : Take good heed, You charge not in your spleen a noble person. And spoil your nobler sou! I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. lOCl KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 8CKNE III. K. Hen. Let him on : — Go forward. Surv. On my soul, I '11 speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 't was dang'rous for him, To ruminate on this so far, until It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd. It was much like to do : He answer'd, " Tush ! It can do me no damage:" adding further, That, had the king iu his last sickness fail'd. The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off". K. Hen. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah, ha ! There 's mischief in this man : Canst thou say further ? Surv. I can, my liege. Jt. Hen. Proceed. Surv. Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reprov'd the duke About sir William Blomer, — K. Hen. I remember, Of such a time : — Being my servant sworn. The duke retain'd him his. But on : What hence? Sarv. " If," quoth he, " I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, — I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard ;'" who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in his presence ; which, if granted. As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife into him." K^. Hen. A giant traitor ! Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom. And this man out of prison ? Q. Kath. God mend all ! K. Hen. There 's something more would out of thee : What say'st ? Surv. After — " the duke his father," — with " the knife,"— He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger. Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes. He did dif^charge a horrible oath ; whose tenor Was, — Were he evil us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. K. Hen. There 's his period, To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 1062 Call him to present trial : if he mav Find mercy in the law, 't is his ; if none, Let him not seek 't of us : By day and night, He 's traitor to the height. [Exe^int. SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries ? Sands. New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous. Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are foUow'd. Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage, is but merely A fit or two o' the face ;" but they are shrewd ones ; For when they hold them, you would swear directly. Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ; one would take it. That never saw them pace before, the spavin, A springhalt reign'd among them.'^ Cham. Death ! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too. That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How now ? What news, sir Thomas Lovell ? Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. Ijov. 'Faith, my .ord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That 's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Cham. What is 't for f Lav. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors, Cham. I am glad, 't is there ; now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. Lov. They must either (For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants Of fool, and feather," that they got in France, With all their honourable points of ignorance, Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks;'* Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings. Short blister'd breeches,'* and those types of travel, ACT I. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 8CENE IV. And understand again like honest men ; Or pack to tli(nr old playfellows : there, I take it, They may cum privilegio, wear away The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'T is time to give them physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Cham. What a loss our ladies Will liave of these trim vanities I Lov. Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. Sands. The devil fiddle them ! I am glad, they're going ; (For, sure, there 's no converting of them ;) now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song, And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'r-lady, Held current music too. Cham. Well said, lord Sands ; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. Sands. No, my lord ; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Cham. Sir Thomas, Whither were you a going ? Lov. To the cardinal's ; Your lordship is a guest too. Cham. O, 't is true : This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure you. Lav. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A liand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; His dews fall every where. Cltam. No doubt, he 's noble ; He had a black mouth, that said other of him. Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal ; in him, Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine : Men of his way should be most liberal, They are set here for examples. Vhatn True, {hfj Ava so ; But tew now giVc bu greri. . Keep. Your grace must wait, till you be call'd for. Enter Doctor Butts. Cran. So Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad , I came this way so happily : The king Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts. Cran. [Aside.] 'T is Butts, The king's physician : As he pass'd along. How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! Pray heaven, he found not my disgrace ! For cer- tain, This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me, (God turn their hearts ! I never sought their mal- ice,) To quench mine honour : they would shame to make me Wait else at door ; a fellow counsellor, Among boys, grooms, and lacqueys. But their pleasures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter, at a window ahove^ the Kino and Burra. Butts. I '11 show your grace the strangest sight, — K. Hen. What 's that, Butto ? Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day. K. Jffen. Body o' me, where is it ? Butts. There, my lord : 1089 ACT V. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH SCENE i. The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; Who holds Iiis state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages, and footboys. K. Hen. Ha ! 'T is he, indeed : fs this the honour they do one another ? 'T is well, there 's one above them yet. I had thought. They had parted so much honesty among them, (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer A man of his place, and so near our favour. To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures. And at the door too, like a post with packets. By .holy Mary, Butts, there 's knavery : Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; We shall hear more anon. — \Exeunt. THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suf- folk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The Chancellor places himself at the upper end of the table, on tlie left hand ; a seat being left void above him, asfor the Archbishop of Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. Crom- well at the lower end, as Secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary : Why are we met in council ? Crom. Please your honours. The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gar. Has he had knowledge of it ? Crom. Yes. Nor. Who waits there ? D. Keep. Without, my noble lords ? Oar. Yes. D. Keep. My lord archbishop ; And has done half an hour, to know your pleas- ures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the Council-table. Cluin. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty : But we all are men, In our natures frail ; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels:'* out of which frailty. And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us. Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains, 1090 (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions. Divers, and dangerous ; which are heresies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords : for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gen- tle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them. Till they obey the manage. If we suffer (Out of our easiness, and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious sickness. Farewell all physic : And what follows then ? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neigh- bours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness. Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the pro- gress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching. And the strong course of my authi)rity. Might go one way, and safely ; and the end Was ever, to do well : nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) A man, that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience, and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me. Suf. Nay, my lord. That cannot be ; you are a counsellor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment. We will be short with you, 'T is his highness' pleasure, And our consent, for better trial of you. From hence you be committed to the Tower ; Where, being but a private man again. You shall know many dare accuse you boldly. More than, I fear, you are provided for. Cran. Ah, my good lord 'of Winchester, I thank you. You are always my good friend; if your wiil pj,o3, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SOENS n. You are so merciful : I see your end, 'T is my undoing : Love, and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition; Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt, as you do conscience. In doing daily wrongs. I could say more. But reverence to your calling makes me modest. Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, That 's the plain truth ; your painted gloss dis- covers. To men that understand you, words, and weakness. Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble. However faulty, yet should find respect For what they have been : 't is a cruelty, To load a falling man. Qar. Good master secretary, I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst Of all this table, say so. Crom. Why, my lord ? Oar. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect ? ye are not sound. Crom. Not sound ? Gar. Not sound, I say. Crom. 'Would you were half so honest ! Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom. Do. Remember your bold life too. Chan. This is too much ; Forbear, for shame, my lords. Gar. I have done. Crom. And I. Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner ; There to remain, till the king's further pleasure Be known unto us : Are you all agreed, lords ? All. We are. Cran. Is there no other way of mercy. But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? Gar. What other Would you expect? You are strangely trouble- some. Let some o' the guard be ready there. Enter Guard. Cran. For me ? Must I go like a traitor thither ? Gar. Receive him. And see him safe i' the Tower. Cran. Stay, good my lords, 1 have a little yet to say. Look there, ray lords ; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and giv(, it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring. Sur. 'T is no counterfeit. Suf. 'T is the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'T would fall upon ourselves. Nor. Do you think, my lords The king will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd ? Cham. 'T is now too certain : How much more is his life in value with him ? 'Would I were fairly out on 't. Cro7n. My mind gave me, In seeking tales, and informations, Against this man, (whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,) Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. Enter King, frowning on them ; takes his seat. Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven, In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; Not only good and wise, but most religious : One that, in all obedience, makes the church The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen That holy duty, out of dear respect, His royal self in judgment comes to hear The cause betwixt her and this great offender. IT. Hen. You were ever good at sudden com mendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; They are too thin and bare to hide offences. To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — Good man, [To Cran.] sit down. Now let me see the proudest He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : By all that 's holy, he had better starve, Than but once think this place becomes thee not Sur, May it please your grace, K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please mo, 1U91 ACT V. KING HENKV TIIK ttunrrH. SCENE rn. I had thought I had had men of some under- standing And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none. Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy At chamber door ? and one as great as you are ? Why, what a shame was this ! Did my com- mission Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye Power as he was a counsellor to try him, Not as a groom : There 's some of ye, I see. More out of malice than integrity, Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; Which ye shall never have, while I live. Chan. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial. And fair purgation to the world, than malice ; I am sure, in me. K. Ken. Well, well, my lords, respect him ; Take him, and use him well, he 's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him. If a prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Can- terbury, I have a suit which you must not deny me ; That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, You must be godfather, and answer for her. Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour : How may I deserve it. That am a poor and humble subject to you ? K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons '," you shall have Two noble partners with you ; the old duchess of Norfolk, And lady marquis Dorset : Will these please you ? Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar. With a true heart, And brother-love, I do it. Cran. And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. IC. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, " Do ray lord of Can- terbury 1092 A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever." — Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long To have this young one made a christian. As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. [^Bxeunt. SCENEIII.— The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You '11 leave your noise anon, ye rascals : Do you take the court for Paris-garden ?* ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. [ Within.^ Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue : Is this a place to roar in ? — Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones ; these are but switches to them. — I '11 scratch your heads : You must be seeing christenijigs ? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals ? Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 't is as much im- possible (Unless we sweep them from the door with can- nons,) To scatter them, as 't is to make them sleep On May-day morning ; which will never be : We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ? Man. Alas, I know not : How gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. 1 am not Sampson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- brand, to mow them down before me : but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuqkold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a queen again ; and that I would not for a crown, God save her. [ Within.] Do you hear, master Porter ? Port. I shall be with you presently, good mas- ter puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do ? Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in ? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us ? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door ! On my christian conscience, this one. chris- ACT V. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SCBNB IT. tening will beget a thousand ; here will be father, godfather, and all together, Man, The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty ot the dog days now reign in 's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance : That fire-drake^^ did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me ; he stands there, like a mortar piece, to blow us. There was a haber- dasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off" her tiead, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, " clubs !" when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on ; I made good my place ; at length they came to the broomstaff" with me, I defied them still ; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work : The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples ; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here ! They grow still to, from all parts they are coming. As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters. These lazy knaves ? — Ye have made a fine hand, fellows. There 's a trim rabble let in : Are all these Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening. Port. An 't please your honour We are but men ; and what so many may do, Not being torn a pieces, we have done : An army cannot rule them. Cliam. As I live, If the king blame me for 't, I '11 lay ye all By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves ; And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound They are come already from the christening : Go, break among the press, and find a way out To let the troop pass fairly ; or I '11 find A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. Port. Make way there for the princess. Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or 1 '11 make your head ache. Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail ; I '11 pick you o'er the pales else. \Exeunt SCENE lY.—The Palace. Enter Trumpets, sounding ; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Nor- folk, with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of Suf- folk, two Noblemen bearing great standing- boiols for the christening gifts ; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, Godmother, bearing the Child richly habited in a mantle, c&c. Train borne by a Lady : then follow the Marchionkss OP Dorset, the other Godmother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks. Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth ! Flourish. — Enter King, and Train. Cran. [^Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and the good queen. My noble partners, and myself, thus pray : — All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid Up to make parents happy. May hourly fall upon ye I K. Men. Thank you, good lord archbishop ; What is her name ? Cran. Elizabeth. K. Sen. Stand up, lord. — [The Kino kisses the Child. With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee! Into whose hands I give thy life. Cran. Amen. K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : 109S KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. SCENE in. I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, When she has so much Enghsh. Cran. Let me speak, sir, For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they '11 find them truth. This royal infant, (heaven still move about her !) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings. Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be (But few now living can behold that goodness,) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed : Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces. That mould up such' a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good. Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her. Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : Her own shall bless her : Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her : In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : God shall be truly known ; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix. Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour. Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror. That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine. His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him : — Our children's children Shall see this, and bless heaven. K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess ; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 'Would I had known no more 1 but she must die, (She must, the saints must have her ;) yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. K. Hen. lord archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before This happy child, did I get any thing : This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire To see what this child does, and praise my Maker, — I thank ye all, — To you, my good lord mayor, And your good brethren, I am much beholden ; I have receiv'd much honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords ; — Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think He has business at his house; for all shall stay, This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt EPILOGUE. T is ten to one, this play can never please All that are here : Some come to take their ease. And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 't is clear. They '11 say, 't is naught : others, to hear the city Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — " that 's witty !" Which we have not done neither : that, I fear 1094 All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women ; For such a one we show'd them : If they smile, And say, 't will do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours ; for 't is ill hap. If they hold, when their ladies b'd them clap. i <: "i»">i"<--^- •■ •-;'■ NOTES TO KING HENKY THE EIGHTH. ■ In a tong moUiy coat, guarded with ydU/w. A a iilhision to the fools or buflToons who played so great ft part in the interludes which held possession of the stage before Shakespeare's time, and whom he has so frequently intioduced into his own works. ' And if you can he merry then, I'll my, A man may weep upon his wedding day. Dr. Johnson says — " Though it is very difficult to decide whether short pieces be genuine or spurious, yet I cannot restrain myself from expressing my suspicion that neither the Prologue nor Epilogue to this play is the work of Shakes- peare ; non vuUus, non color. It appears to me very likely that they were supplied by the friendship or officiousness of Jonson, whose manner they will be perhaps found ex- actly to reeemble. There is yet another supposition possi- ble : the Prologue and Epilogue may have been written after Shakespeare's departure from the stage, upon some acci- dental revival of the play, and there will then be reason for im^ining that tlie writer, whoever he was, intended no great kindness to him, this play being recommended by a subtle and covert censure of his other works. There is, in Shakespeare, so much of fool and fight — • The fellow In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow — appears so often in his drama, that I think it is not very likely that he would have animadverted so severely on himself All this, however, is very dubious, since we know not the exact date of this or the other plays, and cannot tell how our author might have changed his practice or opin- ions." Of the correctness of this conjecture of Dr. John- son, no one acquainted with the dramas of the famous Ben can entertain any doubt ; the Prologue and Epilogue un- questionably proceeded from his pen, Malone, Farmer, and Steevens also coincide in this opinion. The latter says — "I think I now and then perceive his hand (Jon- son's) in the dialogue." Tin this time, pomp was single ; but now married to one above itself. Before this time all pompous shows were exhibited by one prince only, but on this occasion the monarchs of England and France vied with each other. Norfolk is describing the meeting of Henry the Eighth and Francis the First in a plain between Gaisnes and Ardres, which plain was afterwards called " the Field of the Cloth oi Gold." * All clinquant, i. e., glittering, shining. » That Bevis was believed. That is, the old romance of Bevis was no longer held to be incredible, because men had seen such wonders done in their own days. This Bevis (or Beavois) was a Saxon knight, who, for his heroism, was, by William the Con- queror, created Earl of Southampton. * One, certes, th^tt promises no eletnent. That is, no initiation ; one that had not been practised in the conducting of pageantries. ^ Must fetch him in he papers. Ee papers, i. e., he sets down on paper. The moaning is, that those persons whom Wolsey, even without the concurrence of the council, nominated to any duty, were compelled to perform it. ' After the hideous storm {hat followed. Holinshed mentions a " hideous storme" of wind and rain which followed the meeting of Henry and Francis, and induced many men to believe that it prognosticated trouble and hatred between those princes. * A beggar's book Outweighs a noble's blood. A contemptuous allusion to Wolsey's learning, which Buckingham considered was more regarded tlvan his own hereditary rank. »» The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Bichard. That is, Eichard the Third. Buckingham, the tool of that tyrant, on being led to execution, begged to see Iiia sovereign, as it was supposed, to move his compassion by entreaties, but as we here loam to be revenged by as8a»i einating him. 1096 NOTES TO KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. » A fit or two of the face. A fit of the face Beems to be what we now call a grimace, an artificial cast of the countenance. " A springhalt reiqn'd among them. The springhalt, or, properly, stringhalt, is a disease in- cident to horses, which gives them a convulsive motion in their paces. " Of food and feather. This alludes to an efieminate fashion of the young cour- liers, that of carrying fans of feathers in their hands. It is spoken of in Greene's Farewell to Folly, 1617 — '• we strive to be counted womanish, by keeping of beauty, by curling the hair, hy wearing plumes of feathers in our hands, which in wars, our ancestors wore on their heads." >* As fights, and fi/reworks. Some very extraordinary fireworks were let off on the last evening of the interview of Henry and Francis at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The young nobility who ap- pear to have been vain of imitating all the pageantry of that occasion, might have there acquired their fondness for the pyrotechnic art. " Short blistered breeches. Breeches puffed or swelled out like blisters. '• Chambers discharged. Chambers are guns which stand erect upon their breech : these are called chambers because they are merely cavities to lodge powder in, and are not used for offensive pur- poses, but merely on holiday occasions. To this they are well suited, as tliey make a report more than proportioned to their size. " You have found him. Cardinal. Holinshed says the cardinal mistook, and pitched upon Bir Etlward Neville ; upon which the king laughed, and pulled off both Jiis own mask and Sir Edward's. '8 I were unmannerly, to take y CRESSIDA. SCENE ni. That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose It hath to climb. The general 's disdain'd By him one step below ; he, by the next ; That next, by him beneath : so every step, Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation: And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, Troy in her weakness stands, not in her strength. Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd The fever whereof all our power is sick. Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy ? Ulyss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host, — Having his ear full of his airy fame. Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs : With him, Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed the livelong day Breaks scurril jests ; And with ridiculous and awkward action (Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,) He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on ; And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scafFoldage, — Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming i He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 'T is like a chime a mending ; with terms un- squar'd, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd. Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff, The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling. From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; Cries " Excellent ! — 't is Agamemnon just. — Now play me Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard, As he, being 'drest to some oration." That 's done ; — as near as the extremest ends Of parallels ; as like as Vulcan and his wife : Yet good Achilles still cries, "Excellent! 'T is Nestor right ! Now play him me, Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night alarm." And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough, and spit, And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, Shake in afid out the rivet : — and at this sport. Sir Valour dies ; cries, " O ! — enough, Patro clus; — Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all In pleasure of my spleen." And in this fashion, All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions. Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. Nest. And in the imitation of these twain (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice,) many are infect. Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head In such a rein, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles : keeps his tent like him ; Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war. Bold as an oracle : and sets Thersites (A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) To match us in comparisons with dirt ; To weaken and discredit our exposure. How rank soever rounded in with danger, Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cow- ardice; Count wisdom as no member of the war ; Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand : the still and mental parts, — That do contrive how many hands shall strike. When fitness calls them on ; and know, by measure Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : They call this — bed-work, mappery, closet-war; So that the ram, that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness o' his poize, They place before his hand that made the engine ; Or those, that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution. Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Makes many Thetis' sons. \Ti'umpet sounds, Agam. What trumpet ? look, Menelaus. Enter JEneas. Men. From Troy. Agam. What would you 'fore our tent ? jEne. Is this Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray ? Agam. Even this. uEne. May one, that is a herald, and a prince, Do a fair message to his kingly ears ? Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 1109 !l TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENK lit. 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice U:ill Agamemnon head and general. ^ne. Fair leave and large security. How may A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals ? Agam. How ? j^m. Ay; I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus : Which is that god in office, guiding men ? Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ? * Again. This Trojan scorns us ; or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers. ^ne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending angels ; that 's their fome in peace ; But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, Jove's accord, Nothing so full of heart. But peace, .^neas, Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips ! The worthiness of praise disdains his worth. If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth : But what the repining enemy commends, That breath fame follows ; that praise, sole pure, transcends. Agam.. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself -^neas ? jEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. Agam. What 's your affair, I pray you ? ^ne. Sir, pardon ; 't is for Agamemnon's ears. Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes from Troy. jEne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him : I bring a trumpet to awake his ear ; To set his sense on the attentive bent. And then to speak. Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ; It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, He tells thee so himself. jEne. Trumpet, blow loud, Bend thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; — And every Greek of mettle, let him know, Uio What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. ^Trumpet sounds We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,) Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is rusty grown ; he bade me take a trumpet, And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, That holds his honour higher than his ease ; That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril That knows his valour, and knows not his fear ; That loves his mistress more than in confession. (With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) And dare avow her beauty and her worth, In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge. Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, Shall make it good, or do his best to do it. He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Than ever Greek did compass in his arms ; And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy, To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : If any come, Hector shall honour him ; If none, he '11 say in Troy, when he retires, The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much. Agam. This shall be told our lovei-s, lord ^$]neas ; If none of them have soul in such a kind, We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ; And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, That means not, hath not, or is not in love I If then one is, or hath, or means to be, That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now ; But, if there be not in our Grecian host One noble man, that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, Tell him from me, — I '11 hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn ; And, meeting him, will tell him, That my lady Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste As may be in the world : His youth in flood, I '11 prove this truth with my three drops of blood. uEne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity o{ youth ! Ulyss. Amen. Agam. Fair lord .^Eneas, let me touch voni hand ; To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. Achilles shall have word of this intent ; I _ TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SC3KS m. So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent : Yourself shall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe. [Exeunt all but Ulyss. and Nkst. Ulyss. Nestor, Nest. What says Ulysses ? Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain, Be you my time to bring it to some shape. Nest. What is 't ? Ulyss. This 't is : Blunt wedges rive hard knots : The seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all. Nest. Well, and how ? Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub- stance, Whose grossness little characters sum up : And, in the publication, make no strain, But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows, 'T is dry enough, — will with great speed of judg- ment, A.y, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him. Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? Nest. Yes, It is most meet : Whom may you else oppose, Til at can from Hector bring those honours oflf, If not Achilles ? Though 't be a sportful combat. Yet in the trial much opinion dwells ; For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd In this wild action : for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general ; And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby-figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd, He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice : A.ud choice, being mutual act of all our souls, Makes merit her election ; and Joth boil. As 't were from forth us all, a man distill'd Out of our virtues ; Who miscarrying, What heart receives from hence a conquering part. To steel a strong opinion to themselves ? Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments. In no less working, than are swords and bows 'Z)irective by the limbs. Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; — Therefore 't is meet, Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think, perchance, they '11 sell ; if not. The lustre of the better shall exceed. By showing the worse first. Do not consent, That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; For both our honour and our shame, in this. Are dogg'd with two strange followers. Nest. I see them not with my old eyes ; what are they ? Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him; But he already is too insolent ; And we were better parch in Afric sun, Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes. Should he 'scape Hector fair : If he were foil'd, Why, then we did our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; And, by device, let blockish Ajax'^ draw The sort to fight with Hector : Among ourselves, Give him allowance for the better man, For that will physic the great Myrmidon, Who broils in loud applause ; and make him fall His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We '11 dress him up in voices : If he fail, Yet go we under our opinion still That we have better men. But, hit or miss. Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, — Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. Nest. Ulysses, Now I begin to relish thy advice ; And I will give a taste of it forthwith To Agamemnon : go we to him straight Two curs shall tame each other : Pride alone Must tarre the mastifll^s on, as 't were their bone. [JExeunt nil ACT II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT II. SCENE I. — Another Part of the Grecian Camp. Sinter Ajax and Thersiteb. Ajax. Thersites, Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils? full, all over, generally ? Ajax. Thersites, Ther, And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did not the general run then ? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog, Ther. Then would come some matter from him ; I see none now. Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear ? Feel then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee," thou mongrel beef-witted lord ! Ajax. Speak then, thou vinew'dest leaven, speak : I will beat thee into handsomeness. Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holi- ness : but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou ? a red murrain o' ihy jade's tricks ! Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou strikest me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation, — Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. Ajax. I say, the proclamation, — Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beaaty, ay, that thou barkest at him. Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. 1112 Ajax. CobloafI Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You whoreson cur ! [Beating him Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! Ther. Ay, do, do ; thou sodden-witted lord ! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine el- bows ; an assinego'* may tutor thee : Thou scurvy valiant ass ! thou art here put to thrash Trojans and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! Ajax. You dog ! Ther. You scurvy lord ! Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness; do, camel do, do. Enter Achilles and Patroolus. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you thus ? How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man? Ther. You see him there, do you ? Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter ? Ther. Nay, look upon him. Achil. So I do : What's the matter? Ther. Nay, but regard him well. Achil. Well, why I do so, Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool. Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who weara his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, — I '11 tell you what I say of him. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCEKE II. Achil. What? Ther. I say, this Ajax Achil. Nay, good Ajax. [Ajax ojfers to strike him, Achil. interposes. Ther. Has not so much wit Achil. Nay, I must hold you. Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool ! Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there. Ajax. O thou damned cur ! I shall Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's ? Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites. Achil. What 's the quarrel ? Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I serve here voluntary. Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 't was not voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax WHS here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. Ther. Even so ? — a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty uut with no kernel. Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? Ther. There 's Ulysses, and old Nestor, — whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars. Achil. What, what ? Ther. Yes, good sooth : To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. l^her. 'T is no matter ; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards. I*atr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I ? Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to yourteuts; I will keep where diere is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [£xit. Fatr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host : That Hector, by the first hour of the sun. Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning call some knight to arras, That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare Maintain — I know not what; 't is trash : Farewell. Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; other- wise. He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you : — I '11 go learn more of it. [Exeunt. SCENE H.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Helenus. Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks ; " Deliver Helen, and all damage else — As honour, loss of time, travel, expense. Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- sura'd In hot digestion of this cormorant war, — Shall be struck off:" — Hector, what say you to 'f? Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, As far as toucheth my particular, yet. Dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spungy to suck in the sense of fear. More ready to cry out — ^' Who knows what fol- lows ?" Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : Since the first sword was drawn about this question. Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,'* Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean, of ours : If we have lost so many tenths of ours. To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten ; What merit's in that reason, which denies The yielding of her up ? Tro. Fie, fie, my brother ! Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, So great as our dread father, in a scale Of common ounces ? will you with counters sum The past-proportion of his infinite ? And buckle-in a waist most fathomless, 1118 ACT 11. TltOILUS AND CPwESSIDA. With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons ? fie, for godly shame ! Hel. No marvel, tliough you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great sway of his afiairs with reasons. Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest, You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons : You know, an enemy intends you harm ; You know, a sword employ'd is perilous, And reason flies the object of all harm : Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels ; And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star dis-orb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason, Let 's shut our gates, and sleep : Manhood and honour Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect Makes livers pale, and lustihood deject. Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding. Tro. What is aught, but as 't is valued ? Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ; It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 't is pr^ious of itself As in the prizer : 't is mad idolatry. To make the service greater than the god ; And the will dotes, that is inclinable To what infectiously itself aftects. Without some image of the affected merit. Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will ; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment : How may I avoid. Although my will distaste what it elected, The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour : W^o turn not back the silks upon the merchant, When we have soil'd them ; nor the remainder viands Wo do not throw in unrespective sieve, Because we now are full. It was thought meet, Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : IIU Your breath with full consent bellied his sails; The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, And did him service : he touch'd the ports desir'd ; And, for an old aunt,'® whom the Greeks held cap- tive. He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. Why keep we her ? the Grecians keep our aunt : Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl. Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships. And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. If you '11 avouch, 't was wisdom Paris went, (As you must needs, for you all cry'd — " Go, go,") If you '11 confess, he brought hoitie noble prize, (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands. And cry'd — " Inestimable !") why do you now The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ; And do a deed that fortune never did. Beggar the estimation which you priz'd Richer than sea and land ? theft most base ; That we have stolen what we do fear to keep ! But, thieves, unwortiiy of a thing so stolen, That in their country did them that disgrace, We fear to warrant in our native place 1 Cas. [ Within.^ Cry, Trojans, cry ! Pri. What noise? what shriek is this ! Tro. 'T is our mad sister, I do know her voic«. Cas. [ Within.^ Cry, Trojans ! Hect. It is Cassandra. Enter Cassandra, raving. Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears. Hect. Peace, sister, peace. Cas. Virgins and boys, raid-age and wrinkled elders, Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry. Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes A moiety of that mass of moan to come. Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears 1 Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; Our fire-brand brother," Paris, burns us all. Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe : Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go, [JExit. Hect. Now, youthful Troiius, do not these high strains Of divination in our sister work Some t )ui:hes of remorse ? or is your blood TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENK H. So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. Can qualify the same ? Tro. Why, brother Hector, We may not think the justness of each act Such and no other than event doth form it; Nor once deject the courage of our minds, Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel. Which hath our several honours all engag'd To make it gracious. For my private part, I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons : And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us Such things as might offend the weakest spleen To fight for and maintain ! Par. Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings, as your counsels : But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension, and cut off All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms ? What propugnation is in one man's valour, To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite ? Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties, And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, Xor faint in the pursuit. Pri. Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights : You have the honey still, but these the gall ; So to be valiant, is no praise at all. Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; But I would have the soil of her fair rape'" Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. What treason were it to the ransack'd queen. Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me. Now to deliver her possession up. On terms of base compulsion ? Can it be. That 50 degenerate a strain as this, Should once set footing in your generous bosoms ? There's not the meanest spirit on our party, Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble. Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd. Where Helen is the subject : then, I say. Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, The world's large spaces cannot parallel. Hcct. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well ; And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle'' thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy : The reasons, you allege, do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper'd blood. Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong: For pleasure and re venge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision. Nature craves. All dues be render'd to their owners : Now What nearer debt in all humanity. Than wife is to the husband ? if this law Of nature be corrupted through affection ; And that great minds, of partial indulgence To their benumbed wills, resist the same ; There is a law in each well-order'd nation. To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory. If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, — As it is known she is, — these moral laws Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud To have her back return'd : Thus to persist In doing wrong, extenuates not vvronsf, But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless. My spritely brethren, I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still; For 't is a cause that hath no mean dependance Upon our joint and several dignities. Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design : Were it not glory that we more affected Than the performance of our heaving spleens. I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, She is a theme of honour and renown ; A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ; Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame, in time to come, canonize us : For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose So rich advantage of a promis'd glory. As smiles upon the forehead of this action, For the wide world's revenue. Hect. I am yours, You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — I have a roisting challenge sent amongst The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: I was advertis'd, their great general slept, Whilst emulation in the army crept ; This, I presume, will wake him. \Exeunt 1]16 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE in. SCENE III. — The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' Tent. Enter Thersites. Ther. How now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus ? he bents me, and I rail at him : worthy satisfaction ! 'would, it were otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I '11 learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, — a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods ; and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Caduceus ; if ye take not that little little less-than-little wit from them that they have ! which short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing their massy irons, and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the boneache ! for that, methinks, is the curse dependant on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers ; and devil, envy, say Amen. What, ho ! my lord Achilles ! Enter Patroclus. Patr. Who 's there ? Thersites ? Good Thersi- tes, come in and rail. Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt coun- terfeit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my contemplation ; but it is no matter : Thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue ! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee ! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death ! then if she, that lays thee out, says — thou art a fair corse, I '11 be sworn and sworn •il)on 't, she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles? Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer ? Ther. Ay : The heavens hear me I Enter Achilles, Achil. Who 's there ? Patr. Thersites, my lord. Achil. Where, where ? — Art thou come ? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served lllfi thyself in to my table so many meals ? Come what 's Agamemnon ? Ther. Thy commander, Achilles : Then tell me, Patroclus, what 's Achilles? Patr, Thy lord, Thersites : Then tell me, I pray thee, what 's thyself? Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus: Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou ? Patr. Thou mayest tell, that knowest. Achil. O, tell, tell. Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Aga memnon commands Achilles ; Achilles is my lord ; I am Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool Patr. You rascal ! Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done. Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther- sites. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. Achil. Derive this; come. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com- mand Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be coramanded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool ; and Patroclus is a fool positive. Patr. Why am I a fool ? Ther. Make that demand of the prover.*" — It suffices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ? Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, and Ajax. Achil. Patroclus, I '11 speak with nobody : — Come in with me, Thersites. [^Exit. Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and a whore ; a good quarrel, to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject ! and war, and lechery, confound all I [Exit. Agam. Where is Achilles ? Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. Agam. Let it be known to him, that we ar^ here. We sent our messengers ; and we lay by Our appertainments, visiting of him : Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think We dare not move the question of our place. Or know not what we are. Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent ; He is not sick. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. scE^E in. Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ; but, by my head, 't is pride : But why, why ? let him show us a cause.— A word, my lord. \ Takes Agam. aside. Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? Ulyss. Achilles bath inveigled his fool from him. Nest. Who? Thersites? Ulyss. He. Ne.Ht. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument. Ulyss. No you see, he is his argument, that has his argument ; Achilles. Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction : But it was a strong composure, a fool could disunite. Ulyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. Re-enter Patroclus. Nest. No Achilles with him. Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy : his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry. If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness, and this noble state. To call upon him : he hopes, it is no other. But, for your health and your digestion sake, An after-dinner's breath. Agam. Hear you, Patroclus ; — We are too well acquainted with these answers: But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn. Cannot outfly our apprehensions. Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, — Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish. Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him. We come to speak with him : and you shall not sin, . If you do say — we think him over-proud, And under-honest; in self-assumption greater. Than in the note of judgment : and worthier than himself Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on ; Disguise the holy strength of their command, And underwrite in an observing kind His humorous predominance ; yea, watch His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if The passage and whole carriage of this action Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this ; and add, That, if he overbold his price so much. We 'II none of him ; but let him like nn engine Not portable, lie under this report — Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant : — Tell him so. Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. [Exit. Agam. In second voice we '11 not be satisfied, We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. \Exit Ulyss, Ajax. What is he more than another? Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think, he thinks himself a better man than I am ? Agam. No question. Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — he is ? Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How doth pride grow ? I know not what pride is. Agam. Your mind 's the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trum- pet, his own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise. Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads. Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange ? [Aside. Re-enter Ulysses. Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. Agam. What 's his excuse ? Ulyss. He doth rely on none ; But carries on the stream of his dispose. Without observance or respect of any. In will peculiar and in self-admission. Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair re- quest, Untent his person, and share the air with us? Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only. He makes important: Possess'd he is with great- ness ; And speaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath : imagin'd worth 1117- ACT II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 8CBNB in. Holds in Lis blood such swoln and hot discourse, That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kitigdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself: What should I say ? He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it Cry — " No recovery." Again. Let Ajax go to him. — Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 'T is said, he holds you well ; and will be led. At your request, a little from himself. Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! We '11 consecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord, That bastes his arrogance with his own seam ; And never suffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd Of that we hold an idol more than he ? No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is, Ky going to Achilles : That were to enlard his fot-already pride; And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns With entertaining great Hyperion. Tills lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ; And say in thunder — "Achilles, go to him." Nest. O, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him. YAside. l)io. And how his silence drinks up this ap- plause ! \^Aside. Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I '11 pash him Over the face. Agam. O, no, you shall not go. Ajax. An he be proud with me, I '11 pheeze his pride : r^et me go to him. Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, Nest. How he describes linuself! [^Aside. Ajax. Can he not be sociable? Ulyss. The raven Ciiides blackness. \Aside. Ajax. I will let his humours blood. Agam. He '11 be physician, that should be the patient. [Aside. 1118 Ajax. An all men Were o' my mind, Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside Ajax. He should not bear it so, He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it ? Nest. An 't would, you 'd carry half. [Aside. Ulyss. He 'd have ten shares. [Aside. Ajax. I '11 knead him, I will make him sup- ple: Nest, He 's not yet thorough warm : force him with praises : Pour in, pour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside. Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. [To Agam. Nest. noble general, do not do so. Bio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyss. Why, 't is this naming of him does him harm. Here is a man — But 't is before his face ; I will be silent. Nest. Wlierefore should you so ? He is not emulous, as Achilles is. Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us ! I would, he were a Trojan ! Nest. What a vice Were it in Ajax now Ulyss. If he were proud ? Dio. Or covetous of praise ? Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne ? Dio. Or strange, or self-afiected ? Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure ; Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck , Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition : But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight. Let Mars divide eternity in twain, And give him half: and, for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praj^e thy vrisdom, Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here 's Nestor,— Instructed by the antiquary times. He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; — But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax. Ajax. .Shall i call yon father? ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Nest. Ay, my good son. Dio. Be rul'd by liim, lord Ajax. Ulyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war ; Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow We must with all our main of power stand fast : And here 's a lord, — come knights from east to west, And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. Agam, Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep : Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt ACT III. SCENE L— Troy. A Hoom in Priam's Palace. Enter Pandarus and a Servant. Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not you follow the young lord Paris ? Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean ? Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ; I must needs praise him. Serv. The lord be praised ! Pan. You know me, do you not ? Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. P«n. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord Pandarus. Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better. Pan. I do desire it. Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within. Pan. Grace 1 not so, friend ; honour and lord- sliip are my titles : — What music is this ? Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in parts. Pati. Know you the musicians ? Serv. Wholly, sir. Pan. Who play they to ? Serv. To the bearers, sir. Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ? Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. Pan. Command, I mean, friend. Serv. Who shall I command, sir ? Pan. 'Friend, we understand not one another ; I am tro courtly, and thou art too cunning : At whose request do these men play ? Serv. That 's to 't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at tile request of Paris my lord, who is tliere in per- son ; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul, Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? Serv. No, sir, Helen : Could you not find out that by her attributes ? Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus : I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seetlis. Serv. Sodden business 1 there 's a stewed phrase, indeed 1 Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them ! especially to you, fair queen ! fair thoughts be your fair pillow ! Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. — Fair prince, here is good broken music. Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my life, you shall make it whole again : you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance : — • Nell, he is full of harmony. Pan. Truly, lady, no. Helen. 0, sir, Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very rude. Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in fits. Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : — My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we '11 hear you sing, certainly. Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — My dear lord, and most esteemed fi-iend, your brother Troilus — 1119 ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENR 1. Helen. My lord Pandaras ; honey-sweet lord, — Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends fiiinself most affectionately to you. Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody : If you do, our melancholy upon your head ! Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that 's a sweet queen, i' faith. Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour offence. Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words ; no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you, that, if the king call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. Helen. My lord Pandarus, Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very sweet queen ? Par. What exploit 's in hand ? where sups he ,o-night ? Helen. Nay, but my lord, Pan. What says my sweet queen ? — My cousin tvill fall out. with you. You must not know where he sups. Far. I '11 lay my life, with my disposer Cres- skIh. Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ; come, your disposer is sick. Par. Well, I '11 make excuse. Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say — Cressida ? no, your poor disposer 's sick. Par. I spy. Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. Helen. Why, this is kindly done. Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen. Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris. Pan. He 1 no, she '11 none of him ; they two are twain. Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. Pan. Come, come, I '11 hear no more of this ; I '11 sing you a song now. Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. Pan. Ay, you may, you may. Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will mdo us all. 0, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! Pan, Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love, 1120 Pan. In good troth, it begins so : Love, love, nothing but love, still more I For, oh, love's bow Shoots buck and doe : The shaft confounds. Not that it wounds But tickles still the sore. These lovers cry -Oh ! oh 1 they che 1 Yet that which seems the wound to kill. Doth turn oh ! oh 1 to ha I ha ! he 1 So dying love lives still : Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha 1 ha ! Oh! oh! groans' out for ha ! ha! ha! Hey ho ! Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. Par. He eats nothing but doves, love ; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. Pan. Is this the generation of love ? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds ? — Why, they are vipers : Is love a generatipn of vipers ? Sweet lord, who 's a-field to-day ? Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance ray brother Troilus went not ? Helen. He hangs the lip at something ; — you know all, lord Pandarus. Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear how they sped to-day. — You '11 remember your brother's excuse ? Par. To a hair. Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. Helen. Commend me to your niece. Pan. I Avill, sweet queen. [Exit. [A Retreat sounded. Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's hall, To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd. Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. Helen. 'T will make us proud to be his servant, Paris : Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, Give us more palm in beauty than we have ; Yea, overshines ourself. Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. \ExeunU TliOiLUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE n. SCENE II.— The Same. Pandarus' Orchard. Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. Pan. How now ? where 's thy master ? at my cousin Cressida's ? Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him thither. Enter Troilus. Pan. 0, here he comes. — How now, how now ? Tro. Sirrah, walk oflf. [Exit Servant. Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, And give me swift transportance to those fields, Where I may wallow in the lily beds Propos'd for the deserver ! gentle Pandarus, From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, And tly with me to Cressid ! Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I '11 bring her straight. [Exit Pan. Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense : What will it be, When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed Love's thrice-repured nectar? death, I fear me ; Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, loo subtle-potent, lun'd too sharp in sweetness. For the capacity of my ruder powers : I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, That I shall lose distinction in my jovs ; As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps The enemy flying. Re-enter Pandarus. Pan. She 's making her ready, she '11 come straight : you must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a sprite : I '11 fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : — she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit Pan. Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom : My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; And all my powers do their bestowing lose. Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring The eye of majesty. Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Come, com«>, what need you blush ? 141 shame 's a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to her, that you have sworn to me. — What, are you gone again ? you must be watched ere you be made tame, must you ? Come your ways, come your ways ; an you draw back- ward, we '11 put you i' the fills.^' — Wliy do you not speak to her? — Come, draw this curtain, and let 's see your picture. Alas the day, how loth you are to ofiend daylight! an 't were dark, you 'd close soonei-. So, so ; rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm !^* build there, carpenter ; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' the river : go to, go to. Tro. You have berefl me of all words, lady. Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : but she '11 bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again ? Here 's — " In witness whereof the parties inter- changeably" — Come in, come in ; I '11 go get a fire. [Exit Pan. Ores. Will you walk in, my lord ? Tro. Cressida, how often have I wished me thus? Cres. Wished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — O my lord ! Tro, What should they grant ? what makes this pretty abruption ? What too curious dr-eg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love ? Cres. More dregs than water, if my feai-s have eyes. Tro. Fears make devils cherubims ; they never see truly. Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither ? Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers ; thinking it harder for our mistress to de- vise imposition enough, than for us to undergo any diflSculty imposed. This js the monstruosity in love, lady, — that the will is infinite, and the execution confined ; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. Cres. They say, all lovers swear more perform- ance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform ; vowing more than the perfection of tea and discharging less than th« 1121 ACT III, TROILUS AND CKESSIDA. tenth part of one. They that have the voice of .ions, and the act of hares, are they not monsters ? Tro. Are there such? such are not we: Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head shall go bare, till merit crown it : no per- fection in reversion shall have a praise in present : we will not name desert, before his birth ; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : Troilus shall be such to Cres- sid, as what envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth ; and what truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus. Ores. Will you walk in, my lord ? Re-enter Pandarus. Pan. What, blushing still ? have you not done talking yet ? Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi- cate to you. Pan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a boy of you, you '11 give him me : Be true to ray lord : if he flinch, chide me for it. Tro. You know now your hostages ; your un- cle's word, and my firm faith. Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too ; our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant, being won : they are burs, I can tell you ; they '11 stick where they are thrown. Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart : — Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day For many weary months. Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win ? Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; — If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. I love you now ; but not, till now, so much But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ; My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown Too headstrong for their mother : Sec, we fools ! Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us. When we are so unsecret to ourselves ? But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; Or that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first. Sweet, bid Mie hold my tongue : For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, Gunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth. 1122 Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. Pan. Pretty, i' faith. Cres. My lord, 1 do beseech you, pardon re e ; 'T was not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss : I am asham'd ; — O heavens ! what have I done? — For this time will I take my leave, my lord. Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ? Pan. Leave ! an vou take leave till to-morrow Cres. Pray you, content you. Tro. What ofiends you, lady ? Cres. Sir, mine own company. Tro. You cannot shun Yourself. Cres. Let me go and try : I have a kind of self resides with you ; But an unkind self, that itself will leave, To be another's fool. I would be gone : — Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak so wisely. Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love ; And fell so roundly to a large confession, To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ; Or else you love not : For, to be wise, and love, Exceeds man's might ; that dwells with gods above. Tro. 0, that I thought it could be in a woman, (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind That doth renew swifter than blood decays ! Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, — That my integrity and truth to you Might be affronted with the match and weight Of such a winnovv'd purity in love ; How were I then uplifted 1 but, alas, I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth. Cres. In that I '11 war with yoUi Tro. O virtuous fight, When right with right wars who shall be most right! True swains in love shall, in the world to come, Approve their truths by Troilus ; when theii rhymes. Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, — As true as stee', as plantage to the moon," ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENK in. As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, — Yet, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited. As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse. And sanctify the numbers. Cre^ Prophet may you be ! If I be faise, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself. When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing ; yet let memory, From false to false, among false maids in love. Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, As false as Cressid. Pan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ; I '11 be the witness. — Here I hold your hand ; here, my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to an- other, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all brokers-between Pandars I say, amen. Tro. Amen. Ores. Amen. Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death : away. And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here. Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this geer ! [Exeunt. SCENE m.—The Grecian Camp. Enter Agamemnox, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas. Cat Now, princes, for the service I have done you, The advantage of the time prompts me loud To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind, That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, Incurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself, From certairi and possess'd conveniences, To doubtful fortunes ; sequest'ring from me all That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition. Made tame and most familiar to ray nature ; And here, to do you service, am become As new into the world, strange, unacquainted I do beseech you, as in way of taste, To give me now a little benefit, Out of those many register'd in promise. Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. Agam. What would'st thou of us, Trojan make demand. Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Ante nor. Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you, (often have you thanks therefore,) Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange. Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, I know, is such a wrest in their affairs. That their negotiations all must slack. Wanting his manage ; and they will almost Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence Shall quite strike off all service I have done. In most accepted pain. Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange: Withal, bring word — if Hector will to-morrow Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 't is a burden Which I am proud to bear. [Exeunt Dio. and Cal. Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent. Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent : — Please it our general to pass strangely by him, As if he were forgot ; and, princes all. Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : I will come last : 'T is like, he 'U question me. Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him : If so, I have derision med'cinable. To use between your strangeness and his pride, Which his own will shall have desire to drink ; It may do good : pride hath no other glass To show itself, but pride ; for supple knees Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. Aaam. We 'II execute your purpose, and put on 1123 ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE in. A form of strangeness as we pass along ; — So do each lord ; and either greet him not, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind, I '11 fight no more 'gainst Troy. Agam. What says Achilles ? would he aught with us ? Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general ? Achil. No. Nest. Nothing, my lord. Agam. The better. [^Exeunt Agam. and Nest. ' Achil. • Good day, good day. Men. How do you ? how do you ? [Exit Men. Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? Ajax. How now, Patroclus ? Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. Ajax. Ha ? Achil. Good morrow. Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. Achil. What mean these fellows ? Know they not Achilles ? Pair. They pass by strangely : they were us'd to bend. To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep To holy altars. Achil. What, am I poor of late? 'T is certain, greatness, once fallen out with for- tune. Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is, fc£e shall as soon read in the eyes of others. As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer; And not a man, for being simply man. Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, favour, Prizes of accident as oft as merit : Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, Do one pluck down another, and together Die ill the fall. But 't is not so with me: Fortune and I are friends ; I do enjoy A t ample point all that I did possess. Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out Something not worth in me such rich beholding A.S they have often given. Here is Ulysses ; 1124 I'll interrupt his reading. — How now, Ulysses ? Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son t Achil. What are you reading ? Ulyss. A strange fellow here Writes me. That man — how dearly ever parted,* How much in having, or without, or in, — Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver. Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses The beauty that is borne here in the face The bearer knows not, but commends itself To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself (That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'l Salutes each other with each other's form. For speculation turns not to itself, Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all. Ulyss. I do not strain at the position. It is familiar ; but at the author's drift : Who, in his circumstance,^* expressly proves — - That no man is the lord of any thing, (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) Till he communicate his parts to others : Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them form'd in the applause Where they are extended ; which, likt> an arch, reverberates The voice again ; or like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; And apprehended here immediately The unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are, Most abject in regard, and dear in use ! What things again most dear in the esteem, And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to- morrow. An act that very chance doth throw upon him, Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do ! How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! How one man eats into another's pride. While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! To see Lhese Grecian lords I — why, eveu already ACT ni. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE 111. They clap the hibber Ajax on the shoulder ; As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, \n<\ great Troy shrinking. Achil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me, As raisers do by beggars ; neither gave to me Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds for- got? Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past: which are devour'd. As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow. Where one but goes abreast ; keep then the path ; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue : If you give way. Or hedge aside from the direct forthright. Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost ; — Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on : Then what they do in present. Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours : For time is like a fashionable host. That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer : Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, — That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds. Though they are made and moulded of things past ' And give to dust, that is a little gilt. More laud than gilt o'er dusted. The present eye praises the present object : Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; Since things in motion sooner catch the eye, Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee And still it might ; and yet it may again, If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, And case thy reputation in thy tent ; Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of lat(\ Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them selves. And drave great Mars to faction. Achil. Of this my privacy I have strong reasons. Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical : 'T is known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.^^ Achil. Ha ! known ? Ulyss. Is that a wonder ? The providence that 's in a watchful state, Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ; Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps ; Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods. Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery (with whom relation Durst never meddle) in the soul of state ; Which hath an operation more divine. Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to: All the commerce that you have had with Troy, As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ; And better would it fit Achilles much, To throw down Hector, than Polyxena : But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, When fame shall in our islands sound her trump ; And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — " Great Hector's sister did Achilles win ; But our great Ajax bravely beat down him." Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak ; The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break [Exit Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have 1 mov'd you: A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand conderan'd for this ; They think, my little stomach to the war. And your great love to me, restrains you thus : Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to very air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ! Patr. Ay ; and, perhaps, receive much honoui by him. il25 =nl ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENB in. I I ! Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake ; My fame is shrewdly gor'd. Fair. 0, then beware ; Tliose wounds heal ill, that men do give them- selves : Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun. Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patro- clus ; I '11 send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's long- ing, An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; To talk with him, and to behold his visage Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd ! Enter Thersites. Ther. A wonder. Achil. What? Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. * Achil. How so ? Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with H*>etor; and is so prophetically proud of an he- roical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. Achil. How can that be ? Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a pea- cock, a stride, and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning : bites his lip with a poli- tic regard, as who should say — there were wit in this head, an 't would out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man 's un- done for ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i' the combat, he '11 break it himself in vain glory. He knows not me : I said, " Good-morrow, Ajax ;" and he replies, " Thanks, Agamemnon." What think you of this man, that takes me for the gen- eral ? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. Ther, Who, I ? why, he '11 answer nobody ; he 1126 professes not answering ; speaking is for beggars he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put ot his presence ; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus : Tell hina, — I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent ; and to pro- cure safe conduct for his person, of the magnani- mous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times- honoured captain-general of the Grecian axvay^ Agamemnon. Do this. Patr. Jove bless great Ajax. Ther. Humph ! Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, Ther. Ha! Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite Hector to his tent ! Ther. Humph ! Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Afifa- memnon. Ther. Agamemnon? Patr. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What say you to 't ? Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? Ther. No, but he 's out o' tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not . But, I am sure, none ; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. Achil. Come, thou shalt bear •a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that 's the more capable creature. Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd ; ♦ And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt Achil. and Patr. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. , \Exit. TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. »CBNS I ACT lY. SCENE I.— Troy. A Street. Enter, at one side, JEneas and Servant, with a Torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, An- TENOR, DioMEDEs, and Others, with Torches. Par. See, bo ! who 's that there ? Dei. 'T is the lord ^neas. j£ne. Is the prince there in person ? — Had I so good occasion to lie long, As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly busi- ness Should rob my bed-mate of my company. Dio, That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord ■^neas. Par. A valiant Greek, -^neas ; take his hand : Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days. Did haunt j'ou in the field. ^ne. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce : But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute. Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health : But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy. jEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life. Welcome,- indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear, No man alive can love, in such a sort, The thing he means to kill, more excellently. Dio. We sympathize : — Jove, let j^neas live. If to my sword his fato be not the glory, A^ thousand complete courses of the sun ! But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, With every joint a wound ; and that to-morrow ! jEr<£ We know each other well. Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting. The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of — What business, lord, so early ? jSlne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I know not. Par, His purpose meets you. 'T was to biing this Greek To Calchas' house ; and there to render him. For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : Let 's have your company ; or, if you please. Haste there before us : I constantly do think, (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) My brother Troilus lodges there to-night ; Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore : I fear. We shall be much unwelcome. ^ne. That I assure you Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, Than Cressid borne from Troy. Par. There is no help ; The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord ; we '11 follow you. ^ne. Good morrow, all. \Exit. Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me true. Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, — Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen most, Myself, or Menelaus ? Dio. Both alike : He merits well to have her, that doth seek her (Not making any scruple of her soilure,) With such a hell of pain, and world of charge ; And you as well to keep her, that defend her (Not palating the taste of her dishonour,) With such a costly loss of wealth and friends : He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up , The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors : Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less not more ; But he as he, the heavier for a whore. Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. Dio. She 's bitter to her country : Hear me, Paris, — For every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for everv scruple 1127 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Of her contaminated carrion weight, A Trojan hath been slain : since she could speak, She hath not given so many good words breath, As for her Greeks and Trojans sufFer'd death. Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : But we in silence hold this virtue well, — We '11 not commend what we intend to sell. Here lies our way. \Exeunt. SCENE II. — The Same. Court before the House of Pandarus. J^nter Troilus and Cressida. Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; the morn is cold. Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I '11 call mine uncle down ; He shall unbolt the gates. Tro. Trouble him not ; To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to thy senses, As infants' empty of all thought ! Cres. (Jood morrow then. Tro. 'Pr'ythee now, to bed. Cres. Are you aweary of me ? Tro. Cressida 1 but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee. Cres. Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch ! with venomous wights she stays, As tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love. With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me. Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ; — You men will never tarry, foolish Cressid 1 — I might have still held oflT, And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there 's one up. Pa7i. [ Within^ What, are all the doors open aere? Tro. It is your uncle. Enter Pandarus. Cres. A pestilence on him 1 now will he be mocking : 1 shall have such a life, Pan. How now, how now ? how go maiden- heads ? — Here, you maid ; where 's my cousin Cressid ? 1128 Cres. Go hang you:Tself, you naughty mocking uncle ! You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what ? to do what ? — let her saj what: what have I brought you to do ? Cres. Come, come ; beshrew your heart ! you 'li ne'er be good, Nor sufier others. Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! a poor ca pocchia ! — hast not slept to-night ? would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! [Knocking. Cres. Did I not tell you ? — 'would he were knock'd o' the head ! — Who 's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. — My lord, come you again into my chamber ; You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily Tro. Ha, ha ! Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing. — [Knocking. How earnestly they knock ! — pray you, come in ; I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt Tro, and Cues. Pan. [Going to the door.^ Who 's there ? what 'b the matter ? will you beat down the door ? How now \ what 's the matter? Enter J£nea&. jiEne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. Pan. Who 's there ? my lord ^neas ? By my troth, I knew you not : what news with you so early ? JEne. Is not prince Troilus here ? Pan. Here I what should he do here ? jEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him ; It doth import him much, to speak with me. Pan. Is he here, say you? 't is more than I know, I '11 be sworn : — For my own part, I came in late : What should he do here ? ./Ene. Who ! — nay, then : — Come, come, you 'II do him wrong ere you are 'ware : You '11 be so true to him, to be false to him : Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither Go. As Pandarus is going otct, enter Troilub. Tro. How now? what 's the matter? uEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you. Act IV, TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE III-IV. My matter is so rash : There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The lady Cressida. Tro. Is it so concluded ? jEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy : They are at hand, and ready to effect it. Tfo, How my achievements mock me ! I will go meet them : and, my lord ^neas. We met by chance ; you did not find me here. jEne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature Have not more gift in taciturnity. \Exeunt Tro. and ^ne. Pan. Is 't possible ? no sooner got, but lost ? The devil take Antenor ! the young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor 1 I would, they had broke 's neck ! Enter Cressida. Ores. How now ? What is the matter ? Who was here ? , Pan. Ah, ah ! CruH. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where 's my lord gone ? Tell me, sweet uncle, what 's the matter ? Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above ! Ores. the gods ! — what 's the matter ? Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in : 'Would thou had'st ne'er been born ! I knew, thou would'st be liis death : — O poor gentleman ! — A plague upon Antenor ! Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I beseech you, what 's the matter ? Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone ; thou art changed for Antenor : thou must to thy father, and be gone fromTroilus; 't will be his death ; 't will be his bane ; he can- not bear it. Cres. you immortal gods ! — I v.'ill not go. Pan. Thou must. Cres. I will not, uncle : I have forgot my father ; I know no touch of consanguinity.; No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me. As the sweet Troilus. — O you ^ods divine ! Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood. If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death. Do to this body what extremes you can ; But tlie strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth. Drawing all things to it. — I '11 go in, and weep ; — Pan. Do, do. Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch mj praised cheeks : Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. \Exeunt, SCENE III. — ne Same. Before Pandarus' House. Enter Paris, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobus, An- tenor, and Diomedes. Par. It is great morning ; and the hour pre- fix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do. And haste her to the purpose. Tro. Walk in to her house; I '11 bring her to the Grecian presently ; And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus A priest, there offering to it his own heart. \^Exit. Par. I know what 't is to love ; And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — Please you, walk in, my lords. [^Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The Same. A Boom in Pandarus' House. Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste. And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it : How can I moderate it! If I could temporize with my affection. Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like aliayment could I give my grief: My love admits no qualifying dross: No more my grief, in such a precious loss. Enter Troilus. Pan. Here, here, here, he comes. — Ah sweet ducks ! Cres. Troilus ! Troilus ! [^Emhracing him. Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here : Let 1129 ACT IV. TROILUS AND OKESSIDA. me embrace too : " heart," — as the goodly say- ing is,— heart, heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking ? where he answers again, Because thou canst not ease thy smart, By silence, uor by speaking. Then! never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs ? Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me. Cres. Have the gods envy ? Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 't is too plain a case. Cres. And. is it true, that I must go from Troy ? Tro: A hateful truth. Cres. What, and from Troilus too ? Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. Cres. Is it possible ? Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath : We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge of one. Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: As many farewells as be stars in heaven. With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; And scants us with a single famish'd kiss. Distasted with the salt of broken tears. jEne. [ Within^ My lord ! is the lady ready \ Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say, the Ge- nius so Cries, " Come 1" to him that instantly must die. — Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root ! \^Ex'd Pan. Cres, I must then to the Greeks? Tro. No remedy. Crei. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks ! When shall we see again ? 1130 Tro. Hear me, my love : Be thou but true o\ heart, Cres. I true ! how now ? what wicked deem is this? Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly For it is parting from us : I speak not, "be thou true,'' as fearing thee ; For I will throw my glove to death himself. That there 's no maculation in thy heart : But, " be thou true," say I, to fashion in My sequent protestation ; be thou true. And I will see thee. Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! but, I '11 be true. Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you ! Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels. To give thee nightly visitation. But yet, be true. Cres. O heavens ! — be true, again ? Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; The Grecian youths are full of quality ; They 're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of na- ture flowing, And swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy (Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) Makes me afeard. Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. Tro. Die I a villain then ! In this I do not call your faith in question, . So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing. Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk. Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant : But I can tell, that in each grace of these There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil, That tempts most cunirrngly : but be not tempted. Cres. Do you think, I will ? Tro. No. But something may be done, that we will not: And sometimes we are devils to ourselves. When we will tempt the frailty of our powers. Presuming on their changeful potency. jEne. \Within.'\ Nay, good my lord, Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part, Par. \Within?^ Brother Troilus ! Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; And bring vEneas, and the Gr*^cian. with vou. ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE V. Cres. My lord, will you be true? Tro. Who I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault : While others fish with craft for great opinion, [ with great truth catch mere simplicity ; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Fear not my trutL. ; the moral of my wit Is — plain, and true, — there 's all the reach of it. Enter ^neas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and DiOMEDES. Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady, Which for Antenor we deliver you : At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand ; And, by the way, possess thee what she is. Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilion. Dio. Fair lady Cressid, So please you, save the thanks this prince expects : The lustre in your eye, heaven ia your cheek. Pleads your fair usage : and to Diomed You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. Tro. Grecian, thou dost not x:se me courteously, 'L'o shame the zeal of my petition to thee, [ii praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece, She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises, As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant, i charge thee, use her well, even for my charge; For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, I '11 cut thy throat. Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilu-s : Let me be privileg'd by ray place, and message. To be a speaker free ; M;hen I am hence, I '11 answer to my lust : And know you, lord, I '11 nothing do on charge: To her own worth She shall be priz'd ; but that you say — he 't so, I '11 speak it in my spirit and honour, — no. Tro. Come, to the port. — I '11 tell thee, Diomed, This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. — Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk, To our own selves bend we our needful talk. \_Exeunt Tro., Cres., and Dig. \Trumpet heard. Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. jEne. How have we spent this morning ! The prince must think me tardy and remiss. That swore to ride before him to the field. Par. 'T is Troilus' fault : Come, come, to field with him. Dei. Let us make ready straight. ^ne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity. Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : The glory of our Troy doth this day lie On his fair worth, and single chivalry. \Exeanl SCENE V. — Tlte Grecian Camp. Lists set out. Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achijxes, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and Others. Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair. Anticipating time with starting courage. Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant. And hale him hither. Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe : Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Out-swell the cholic of puff''d Aquilon : Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; Thou blow'st for Hector. \_Trumi)et mands. Ulyss. No trumpet answers. Achil. 'T is but early 'hiys. Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter ? Ulyss, 'T is he, I ken the manner of his gait; He rises on the toe : that spirit of his In aspiration lifts hini from the earth. Enter Diomeu, with Cressida. Agam. Is this the lady Cressid ? Dio. Even she. Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks. sweet lady. Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 'T were better, .she were kissed in general. Nest. And very courtly counsel : I '11 begm. — So much for Nestor. Achil. I '11 take that winter from your lips, fnir lady : Achilles bids you welcome. Men. I had good argument for kissing once. Patr. But that 's no argument for kissing now : For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment; And parted thus you and your argument. 1181 I ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Ulyss. deadly gall, an.l theme of all our scorns ! For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss; — this, mine : Patroclus kisses you. Men. 0, this is trim ! Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. Men. I Ml have my kiss, sir : — Lady, by your leave. Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive? Patr. Both take and give. Cres. I '11 make my match to live. The kiss you take is better than you give ; Therefore no kiss. Men. I '11 give you boot, I '11 give you three for one. Cres. You 're an odd man ; give even, or give none. Men. An odd man, lady ? every man is odd. Cres. No, Paris is not ; for you know, 't is true. That you are odd, and he is even with you. Men. You fillip me o' the head. Cres. No, I '11 be sworn. Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his horn. — May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? Cres. You may. Ulyss. I do desire it. Cres. Why, beg then. Ulyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss. When Helen is a maid again, and his. Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 't is due. Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you. Dio. Lady, a word ; — I '11 bring you to your father. [Did. leads out Cres. JVest, A woman of quick sense. Ulyss. Pye, fye upon her! There 's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, Tliat give accosting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader ! set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity. And daughters of the game. [7Vampet within. All. The Trojans' trumpet. Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 1182 Enter Hector, armed ; tEneas, Troilus, and other Trojans, with Attendants. jEne. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall be done To him that victory commands ? Or do you pur- pose, A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights Shall to the edge of all extremity Pursue each other ; or shall they be divided By any voice or order of the field ? Hector bade ask. Agam. Which way would Hector have it! jEne. He cares not, he '11 obey conditions. Achil. 'T is done like Hector; but securely done A little proudly, and great deal misprizing The knight oppos'd. uEne. If not Achilles, sir. What is your name ? Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. ^ne. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er, haovt this ; — In the extremity of great and little. Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; The one almost as infinite as all. The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well. And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood : In love whereof, half Hector stays at home ; Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek." Achil. A maiden battle then ? — 0, I perceive you. Re-enter Diomed. Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight, Stand by our Ajax : as you and lord ^neas Consent upon the order of their figlit. So be it ; either to the utterance. Or else a breath :^ the combatants being kin. Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. [Ajax and Hect, enter the lists, Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy ? Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight ; Not yet mature, yet matchless ; firm of word ; Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd : His heart and hand both open, and both free ; ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, SCENE V. For what he has, he gives, what thinks, he shows ; Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath :^ Manly as Plector, but more dangerous ; For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes To tender objects ; but he, in heat of action, Is more vindicative than jealous love : They call him Troilus ; and on him erect A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. Thus says JEneas ; one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and, with private soul, Did in great Ilion tluis translate him to me. [^Alarum. Hect. and Ajax Jiffht. Agarrh. They are in action. Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! Tro, Hector, thou sleep'st ; Awake thee ! Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there, Ajax! Dio. You must no more. \Trumj[)eU cease. jEne. Princes, enough, so please you. Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. Dio. As Hector pleases. Hect. Why then, will I no more; — Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, A cousin-german to great Priam's seed : The obligation of our blood forbids A gory emulation 'twixt us wain : Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan, so That thou could'stsay — "This hand is Grecian all. And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother's blood Runs on tlie dexter cheek, and this sinister Bounds-in my fatlier's ;" by Jove multipotent, Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish membe. Wherein my sword had not impressure made Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay, That any drop thou borrow'st from thy motlier, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; Hector would have them fall upon him thus : Cousin, all honour to thee ! Ajax. I thank thee. Hector: Thou art too gentle, and too free a man : I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence A great addition earned in thy death. Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable (On whose bright crest Fame with her lond'st O yes Oies, " This is he,") could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector. ^ne. There is expectance here from both the sides, What further you will do. Hect. We '11 answer it ; The issue is embracement : — Ajax, farewell. Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, (As seld I have the chance,) I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. Dio. 'T is Agamemnon's wish : and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. Hect. -^neas, call my brother Troilus to me : And signify this loving interview To the expectors of our Trojan part ; Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin; T will go eat with thee, and see your knights. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by name ; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size. Agam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one That would be rid of such enemy ; But that 's no welcome : Understand more clear. What 's past, and what 's to come, is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion ; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee, with most divine integrity. From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamem- non.'" Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. [To Tro. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting ; — You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. Hect. Whom must we answer ? Men. The noble Menelaus.*' Hect. O you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks ! Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove : She 's well, but bade me not commend her to you. Men. Name her not now, sir : she 's a deadly theme. Hect. O, pardon ; I ofl:end. Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 1188 ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE V. Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced svi^ord i' the air. Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; That I have said to some my standers-by, " Lo, Jupiter is yonder, deahng life !" And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire. And once fought with him : he was a soldier good ; But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ; And, worthy warrior, welcome to oar tents. ^ne. 'T is the old Nestor. Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle. That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time' : — Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in contention, \s ihey contend with thee in courtesy. Hect. I would they could. Nest. Ha! By this white beard, I 'd fight with thee to-morrow. Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time — Ulyss. T wonder now how yonder city stands. When we have here her base and pillar by us. Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well. Ah, sir, there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; For yonder walls, that pertly front your town. Yon towers whose wanton tops do buss the clouds. Must kiss their own. feet. Hect. I must not believe you : There they stand yet ; and modestly I think. The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood : The end crowns all ; And that old common arbitrator, time, Will one day end it. Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome : After the general, I beseech you next To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 1184 Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses though ! — '^ Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; I have with exact view perus'd thee. Hector, And quoted joint by joint. Heel. Is this Achilles ? Achil. I am Achilles. Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. Achil. Behold thy fill. Hect. Nay, I have done already. Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time, As I would buy thee, view thee limb by Jirab. Hect. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read me o'er; But there 's more in me than thou understand'st. Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ? Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him ? whether there, there, or there ? That I may give the local wound a name ; And make distinct the very breach, whereout Hector's great spirit flew : Answer me, heavens ! Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud man. To answer such a qifestion : Stand again, Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, As to prenominate in nice conjecture, Where thou wilt hit me dead ? Achil. I tell thee, yea. Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I 'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard the€ well : For I '11 not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ; But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, I '11 kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. — You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. His insolence draws folly from my lips ; But I '11 endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ;— And you, Achilles, let these threats alone. Till accident, or purpose, bring you to 't : You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field ; We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd The Grecians' cause. Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector : ACT y. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. BCKNB I. I'o-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death ; To-night, all friends. Jlect. Thy hand upon that match. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent ; There in the full convive we : afterwards, As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall Concur together, severally entreat him. — Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know. [^Exeunt alt but Tro. and Ulyss. Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you. In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ? Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus : There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth, But gives all gaze and bent of amcrous view On the fair Cressid. Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you sc much. After we part from Agamemnon's tent, To bring me thither ? Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover there That wails her absence ? Tro. 0, sir, to such as boasting show theii scars, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ? She was belov'd, she lov'd ; she is, and doth : But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt, ACT Y. SCENE l.~The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' Tent. Enter Achilles and Patroolus. Achil. I '11 heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night. Which with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow. — Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. Pair. Here comes Thersites. Enter Thersites. Achil. How now, thou core of envy ? Thou crusty batch of nature, what 's the news ? Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here 's a letter for thee. Achil. From whence, fragment ? Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Patr. Who keeps the tent now ? Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well said. Adversity ! and what need these tricks ? Ther. Pr'ythee bo silent, boy ; I profit not by thy talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what 's that ? Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, rup- tures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, leth- argies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the palm, incurable bone- ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries ! Patr. Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus ? Ther. Do I curse thee ? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt ; you whore- son indistinguishable cur,^^ no. Ther. No ? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleive silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodi- gal's purse, thou ? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies ; diminutives of nature ! Patr. Out, gall ! Ther. Finch egg ! Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle- Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; A token from her daughter, my fair love ; Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn. I will not l>ieak it: 1185 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCKNK n. Fall, Greeks; fail, fame; honour, or go, or stay ; My major vow lies here, this T '11 obey. Come, come, Thersites, help to trim ray tent ; This night in banqueting must all be spent. — Away, Patroclus. [Uxeunt Achil. and Patr. Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, these two may run mad ; but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I '11 be a curer of madmen. Here 's Agamemnon, — an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails : but he has not so much brain as ear-wax : and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, — the primitive statue, and ob- lique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty shoeing- horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, — to what form, but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to ? To an ass, were nothing : he is both ass and ox : To an ox were nothing : he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a' fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care ; but to be Menelaus, — I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. — Hey-day ! spirits and fires ! Enter Hectou, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomed, with Lights. Again. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. No, yonder 't is ; There, where we see the lights. Hect. I trouble you. Ajax. No, not a whit. Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. Enter Achilles. Achil. Welcome, brave Hector ; welcome, prin- ces all. Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good night. Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' general. Men. Good night, my lord. Hect. Good night, sweet Menelaus. Ther. Sweet draught : Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink, sweet sewer. Achil. Good night. And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry. Agam. Good night. [Exeunt Agam. and Men, 1186 Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company an hour or two. Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business, The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hec- tor. Hect. Give me your hand. Ulyss. Follow his torch, he goes To Calchas' tent; I '11 keep you company. [Aside to Tro. Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. Hect. And so good night. [Exit Dig. ; Ulyss. and Tro. following. Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. [Exeunt Achil., Hect., Ajax, and Nest. Ther. That same Diomed 's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses : he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the hound ; but when he performs, astronomers foretell it : it is prodigious, there will come some change ; the sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him : they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll after. — Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent varlets ! [Exit. SCENE II.— The Same. Before Calchas' Tent. Enter Diomedes. Dio. What are you up here, ho ? speak. Cal. [Within?^ Who calls? Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's your daughter ? Cal. [ Within.^ She comes to you. Enter Troilus and Ulysses at a distance ; after them Thersites. Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover Enter Cressida. Tro. Cressid come forth to him 1 Dio. How now, my charge ? Cres. Now, ray sweet guardian ! — Hark 1 a word with you. [Whispers. Tro. Yea, so familiar ! Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. Ther. And any man may sing her key, if he can take her cleft ; she 's noted. Dio. Will you remember ? Cres. Remember? yoB. ACT V. TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE U. Dio. Nay, but do then ; And let your mind be coupled with your words. Tro. What should she remember ? Ulyss. List ! Cres. Sweot honev Greek, tempt me no more to folly. Ther. Roguery J Dio. Nay, then, Cres. I '11 tell you what : Dio. Pho I pho ! come, tell a pin : You are- forsworn. Cres. In faith, I cannot : What would you have me do ? Ther. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open. Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me? Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. Dio. Good night. Tro. Hold, patience ! Ulyss. How now, Trojan ? Cres. Diomed, Dio. No, no, good night : I '11 be your fool- no more. Tro. Thy better must. Cres. Hark 1 one word in your ear. Tro. O plague and madness! Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I pray you, juest your displeasure should enlarge itself To wrathful terras : this place is dangerous ; The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go, Tro. Behold, I pray you ! Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off: You flow to great destruction ; come, my lord. Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's torments, ^ will not speak a word. Dio. And so, good night. Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. Tro. Doth that grieve thee ? wither'd truth 1 Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ? Tro. By Jove, 1 will be patient. Cres. (iruardian ! — why, Greek ! Dio. Pho, pho I adieu ; you palter. Cres. In faith, I do not; come hither once again. 143 Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something ; will you go? You will break out. Tro. She strokes his cheek I Ulyss. Come, come. Tro. Nay, stay by Jove, I will not speak a word : There is between my will and all offences A guard of patience : — stay a little while. Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump, and potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry ! Dio. But will you then ? Cres. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. Cres. I '11 fetch you one. [Exit. Ulyss. You have sworn patience. Tro. Fear me not, my lord ; I will not be myself, nor have cognition Of what I feel ; I am all patience. He-enter Cressida. Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now 1 Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. Tro. O beauty 1 where 's thy faith ? Ulyss. My lord, Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. Cres. You look upon that sleeve: Behold it well. — He loved me — false wench ! — Give 't me again. Dio. Who was 't ? Cres. No matter, dow I have 't again. I will not meet with you to-morrow night : I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. Ther. Now she sharpens ; — Well said, whet- stone. Dio. I shall have it. Cres. What, this ? Dio. Ay, that Cres. O, all you gods! — pretty, pretty pledge I Thy master now lies thinking in his bed Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove, And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me, He, that takes that, must take my heart withal. Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it Tro. I did swear patience. C7'es. You shall not have it, Diomed; 'faith you shall not ; I '11 give you something else. Dio. I will have this : Whose was it ? Cres. 'T is no matter 1187 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSmA. buuf^is II. Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. Cres. 'T was one's that loved me better than you will. But, now you have it, take it. Dio. Whose was it ? Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder, And by herself, I will not tell you whose. Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; And grieve his spirit, that dares not challenge it. Tro. "Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, It should be challeng'd. Cres. "Well, well, 't is done, 't is past ; — And yet it is not ; T will not keep my word. Dio. Why then, farewell : Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. Cres. You shall not go : — One cannot speak a word, But it strait starts you. Dio. I do not like this fooling. Ther. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you, pleases me best. Dio. What, shall I come ? the hour ? Cres. Ay, come : — Jove ! Do come : — I shall be plagu'd. Dio. ^ Farewell till then. Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. — [Exit Did. Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind : What error leads, must err ; O then conclude, Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. [Exit Cres. Thcr. A proof of strength she could not pub- lish more, Unless she said. My mind is now turn'd whore. Ulyss. All 's done, my lord. Tro. It is. Ulyss. Why staj'^ we then I Tro. To make a recordation to my soul Of every syllable that hero was spoke. But, if I tell how these two did co-act, Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ? Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, An esperance so obstinately strong. That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; As if those organs had deceptious functions. Created only to calumniate. Wiis Cressid herel , US8 Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. Tro. She was not sure. Ulyss. Most sure she was. Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of mad ness. Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but now. Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood ! Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage To stubborn critics — apt, without a theme. For depravation, — to square the general sex By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid. Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil our mothers ? Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. Ther. Will he swagger himself out on 's own eyes? Tro. This she ? no, this is Diomed's Cressida : If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony. If sanctimony be the gods' delight, If there be rule in unity itself. This was not she. madness of discourse. That cause sets up with and against itself! Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! Within my soul there doth commence a fight Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; And yet the spacious breadth of this division Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. Instance, O instance ! .strong as Pluto's gates ; Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven ; Instance, instance ! strong as heaven itself: The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd ; And with another knot, five-finger-tied. The fractions of her faith, orts of her love. The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliquea Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd With that which here his passion doth express ? Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged well In charactera as red as Mars his heart Inflam'd with "Venus : never did young man fancy With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. Hark, Greek; — As much as I do Cressid I"". '^, So much by weight hate I her Diomed : That sleeve is mine, that he '11 bear on his helm ; .TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENK III. Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill, My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout, Which shipmen do the hurricane call, Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear, In his descent, than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed. Ther.' He '11 tickle it for his concupy, Tro. Cressid ! false Cressid ! false, false, false ! Let all untruths stand by thy stained name. And they '11 seem glorious. Ulyss. O, contain yourself; Your passion draws ears hither. Enter ^neas. uEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord : Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous lord, adieu : — Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed, Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates. Tro. Accept distracted thanks. [Exeunt Tro., ^ne., and Ulyss. Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed ! I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore : the parrot will not do more for an almond, than he for a com- modious drab. Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery; nothing else holds fashion: A burning devil take them I [Exit. SCENE HI.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter Hector and Andromache. And. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd. To stop his ears against admonishment? Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in : By all the everlasting gods, I '11 go. And My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. Hect, No more, I say. Enter Cassandra. CW. Where is my brother Hector ? Arid. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent : Consort with me in loud and dear petition. Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. Cas. O, it is true. Hect. Ho ! bid my trunppet sound I Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother. Hect. Begone, T say : the gods have heard me swear. Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. And. ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy To hurt by being just ; it is as lawful. For we would give much, to use violent thefts, And rob in the behalf of charity. Cas. It is the purpose, that makes strong the vow; But vows, to every purpose, must not hold: Unarm, sweet Hector. Hect. Hold you still, I say ; Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : Life every man holds dear; but the dear man Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. — Enter Troilus. How now, young man ? raean'st thou to fight to- day ? And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. {Exit Cas. Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus ; doff thy har- ness, youth, I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : Let grovr thy sinews till their knots be strong. And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I '11 stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion, than a man, Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide me for it. Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall. Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise, and live. Hect. O, 't is fair play. Tro, Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. Hect, How now ? how now ? Tro. For die love of all the gods, 1189 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE IV. Let 's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venotn'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. Hect. Fye, savage, fye ! Tro. Hector, then 't is wars. Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. Tro. WLo should withhold me ? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees. Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by ray ruin. Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. Cas. Lay hold upon hira, Priam, hold him fast: He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee. Fall all together. Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions ; Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt. To tell thee — that this day is ominous ; Therefore, come back. Hect. -^neas is a-field ; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning to them. Pri. But thou shalt not go. Hect. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir, Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave To take that course by your consent and voice, Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. Cas. Priam, yield not to him. And. Do not, dear father. Hect. Andromache, I am ofiended with you : Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit And. Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements. Cas. O farewell, dear Hector. Look, how thou diest ! 'look, how thy eye turns pale ! Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents 1 Hark, how Troy roars 1 how Hecuba cries out ! How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth 1 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement, 1140 Like witless antics, one ahother maet. And all cry — Hector ! Hector's dead ! Hector 1 Tro. Away ! — Away ! — Gas. Farewell. — Yet, soft : — Hector, I take my leave : Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim : Go in, and cheer the town : we '11 forth, and fight ; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about thee! [Exeunt severally Pri. and Hect. Alarums. Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, believe, I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, Pandarus. Pan. Do you hear, my lord ? do you hear ? Tro. What now ? Pan. Here 's a letter from yon' poor girl. Tro. Let me read. Pan. A whoreson phthisic, a whoreson rascally phthisic so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl ; and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o' these days : And I have a rheum in mine eyes too ; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on 't. — What says she there ? Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; [Tearing the letter. The effect doth operate another way. — Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to- gether. — My love with words and errors still she feeds ; But edifies another with her deeds. [Exeunt severally. SCENE lY.— Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Thersites. Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one an- other ; I '11 go look on. That dissembling abomi- nable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm : I would fain see them meet ; that that same young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeveless errand. O' the ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENS T. Other side, The policy of those crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor ; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, — is not proved worth a blackberry : — They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day ; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft ! here come sleeve, and t' other. Enter Diomedes, Troilv a following. Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after. Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : [ do not fly ; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: Have at thee ! Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for thy whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve- less 1 \Exeunt Tro. and Dio., fighting. Enter Hector. Hect. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match ? Art thou of blood, and honour ? 2Vier. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy rail- ing knave ; a very filthy rogue. Hect. I do believe thee ; — live. \Exit. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me : But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me ! What 's become of the wenching rogues ? I think, they have swallowed one another : I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. \Exit. SCENE Y.—The Same. Enter Diomedes and a Servant. Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ; Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ; Tell her, 1 have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, And am her knight by proof. Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Serv. Enter Agamemnon. Agatn. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamus Hath beat down Menon : bastnrd Margarelon Hath Doreus prisoner ; And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, Upon the pashed corses of the kings Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ; Amphimachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; Patroclus ta'en, or slain ; and Palamedes Sore hurt and bruis'd: the dreadful Sagittary Appals our numbers ; haste we, Dioraed, To reinforcement, or we perish all. Enter Nestor. I^est. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. — There is a thousand Hectors in the field : Now here he fights on Galathe his horse. And there lacks work ; anon, he 's there afoot, And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge. Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; Dexterity so obeying appetite. That what he will, he does ; and does so much, That proof is call'd impossibility. Enter Ulysses. Ulyss. 0, courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance : Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons, That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him. Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it. Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day Mad and fantastic execution ; Engaging and redeeming of himself, With such a careless force, and forceless care, As if that luck, in very spite of cunning. Bade him win all. Enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus I thou coward Trolius 1 [Exit. Dio. Ay, there, thA-e. • Nest. So, so, we draw together. Enter Achilles. Achil. Where is tliis Hector ; Come, come, thou boy-qneller, show thy face ; 1141 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. scKNB VI- nr I Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. Hector ! where 's Hector ? I will none but Hector. [JSxeunt. SCENE Yl.— Another Part of the Field. JEnter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head! Enter Diomedes. Dvo. Troilus, I say ! where 's Troilus ? Ajax. What would'st thou ? Dio. I would correct him. Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my oflBce, Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus ! Enter Troilus. Tro. O traitor Diomed ! — turn thy false fkce, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! Bio. Ha ! art thou there ? Ajax. I '11 fight with him alone : stand, Diomed. D'w. He is my prize, I will not look upon. Tro. Come both, you cogging Greeks ; have at you both. [Exeunt, fighting. Enter Hector Hect. Yea, Troilus ? O, well fought, my young- est brother ' Enter Achilles. Achil. Now do I see thee : Ha ! — Have at thee, Hector. Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. Be happy, that my arms are out of use : My rest and negligence befriend thee now, But thou anon shalt hear of me again ; Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. Hect. Fare thee well : — I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother ? Re-enter Troilus. Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^neas : Shall it be ? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry him ; I '11 be taken too, Or bring him off: — Fate, here me what I say ! I reck not though I end my life to-day. [Exit. 1U2 Enter one in sumptuous Armour. Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark : — No ? wilt thou not ? — I like thy armour well ; I '11 frush it, and unlock the rivets all, But I 'II be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast, abide ? Why then, fly on, I '11 hunt thee for thy hide. [Exeunt SCENE Yll.—The Same Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmi- dons ; Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel : Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ' And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about ; In fellest manner execute your arms. Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye ; — It is decreed — Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. SCENE Ylll.--The Sami. Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting : then Thersites. Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it : Now, bull! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo I now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho ! [Exeunt Paris and Men. Enter Margarelon. Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. Ther. What art thou ? Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegiti- mate. One bear will not bite another, and where- fore should one bastard ? Take heed, the quarrel 'a most ominous to us : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: Farewell, bas- tard. Mar. The devil take thee, coward. [Exewit. SCENE IX. — Another part of the Field. Enter Hector. Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. SCENE JC-Xl. Thy goodly armour thus liath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done ; I '11 take good breath ! Rest, sword ! thou hast thy fill of blood and death ! \^Puts off his Helmet, and hangs his Shield behind him. Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun. To close the day up, Hector's life is done. Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man I seek. [Hect. falls. So, Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — On, Myrmidons ; and cry you all amain, " Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain." \A Retreat sounded. Elark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, A».d, stickler like, the armies separate. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — \^Sheaths his Sword. Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. SCENE X.—The Same. Enter AaAMEMNON, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, DiOMEDKS, and Others, marching. Shouts within. Agam. Hark! hark! what shout is that? Nest. Peace, drums. [Within:\ Achilles I Achilles ! Hector 's slain ! Achilles ! Dio. The bruit is — Hector 's slain, and by Achilles. Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; Great Hector was as good a man as he. Agam. March patiently along : — Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — If in his death the gods have us befriended. Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE XL— Another part of the Field. Enter ^neas and Trojans. ^ne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field Never go home ; here starve we out the night. Enter Troilus. Tro. Hector is slain. All. Hector ?— The gods forbid ! Tro. He 's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's tail. In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.— Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed ! Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ' I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy. And linger not our sure destructions on ! ^ne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; But dare all imminence, that gods and men Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd. Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead : There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word. Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away : Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. Stay yet ; — You vile abominable tents. Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I '11 through and through you ! — And thou, great* siz'd coward ! No space of earth shall sunder our two hates ; I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts. — Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go : Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. [Exeunt .^neas and Trojans. As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side. Pandabus. Pan. But hear you, hear you. Tro. Hence, broker lackey ! ignomy and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name I [Exit Tro. Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones 1 — O world ! world ! world 1 thus is the poor agent 1148 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 8CBNE XJ. despised ! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a' work, and how ill requited ! Why should our endeavour be so loved, and the per- formance so loathed ? what verse for it ? what in- stance for it? — Let me see: — Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting : And being once subdued in armed tail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. — Ol^ood traders in the flesh, set this in your painted olotbn. As many as be here of pander's hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall : Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans. Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here b€ made: It should be now, but that my fear is this. — Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : Till then I '11 sweat, and seek about for eases ; And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. \Exii lOTES TO TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA. ' Orgulous, i. e., proud, disdainftil. 2 Sj)err up the sons of Troy. To sperre, or spar, from the old Teutonic word Speren, eignifies to shut up or defend by bars. And hither am I come A prologue armed. The speaker of the prologue was to be habited in ar- tncr, not, says Dr. Johnson, ''defyinfj tlie audience, in conndence of either the author's or actor's abilltiea, but merely in a character suited to the subject, in a dress of war before a warlilie play." * Leaps o''er the vaunt. That is, the avant, what went before. ' She "« a fool to stay behind her father. Caichas, the father of Cressida, was a priest of Troy, who being eent by Priam to consult the oracle at Delphi, con- cerning the event of the war, and finding that the Greelcs would obtain the victory, he deserted to them, and never returned to his own country. • Between our Ilium. Ilium is here used to mean the royal palace of Priam, but Mr. Steevens says that Ilium, properly speaking, is the name of the city ; Troy, that of the country. T Into a compassed windmo. That is, a circular or bow-window. ^ Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter f Lifter is here used equivocally to mean thief. * Bounding between the two nwist elements, Like Perseus'' horse. Pegasus is the only flying-horse that we hear of in an- cient mythology, and he did not belong to Perseus, but Belleroplion. But Shakespeare followed the author of The Destruction of Troy, in which he found the following ac- count :—■" Of the blood that issued out (from Medusa's head) there engendered Vfi^mus, orlhe flying-horse. By the flying-horse that was engendered of the biood issued 144 from her head, is understood, that of hei riches issuing of that realme, he (Perseus) founded and made a ship, named Pegase, and this ship was likened unto a horse flying." '0 The brise, i. e., the gad or horse-fly. " The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre. By this centre, Ulysses means the earth itself, not tna centre of the earth. According to the Ptolemaic system, the earth is the centre of the solar system. " Let blockish JJcut. Shakespeare appears to have confounded Ajax Telamo- nius with Ajax Oileus. Perhaps he was led into this erroi by the author of The Destruction of Troy, who, in describ- ing these two persons, improperly calls Ajax Oileus, simply Ajax, as the more eminent of the two. " The plague of Greece upon thee. Probably an allusion to the plague supposed to be senl by Apollo on the Greek army. " An assinego, i. e., an ass. •» Every tit?ie soul, ''mongst many thousand disme». Disme is the tithe or tenth. Every tenth among manj thousand tenths. '• And, for an old aunt. Priam's sister, Hesione, whom Hercules gave to Tele- mon, who by her had Ajax. " Our fire-brand brother, Hecuba, when pregnant with Paris, dreamed she would be delivered of a flaming torch. '» The soil of Iter fair rape. Eape anciently signified the carrying away of a female without any idea of personal violence. »» Aristotle. Aristotle was not born until 382 years before Christ, and Troy was taken by the Greeks 1184 years before Christ* so that the poet is guilty of an anachronism of more than eight hundred years. 1145 NOTES TO TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. * Mi:Jc4 that demand of tlit prover. The folio readH, to thy Creator. The quarto has, of the procer, but the meaning is, I think, the same. Make that dciuan I (i. e., why thou art a fool ?) to thy Creator who li;itli miide thee one. '^* An you draw backward, we HI put you i' the fills. That is, in the shafts. Fills is a word used in some counties for thills, the shafts of a cart or waggon. " A hiss in fee-farm. That is, a prolonged kiss, a kiss of unlimited duration. »' As true as steel, as plantage to the moon. At true as steel is an old proverbial expression, a sword of good steel being a weapon on which its owner could rely. Plantage probably means vegetation, plants of any kind, and the allusion is to the common opinion of the influence which the moon was supposed to possess over the vegetable kingdom. ** That man — hoto dearly ever parted. However excellently endowed. * Wlio, in his circumstance. That is, in the detail or circumduction of his argument. '"' ' 7 i,? known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters. i'olycena, in tlie act of ma Tying whom he was after- jfiirdft killed by Paris. 1144 ^ This blended knight, half JVojan, and half Greek. Ajax and Hector were cousins, Ajax being the son of Hesione, the sister of Priam and aunt of Hector. »8 Or else a breath. A breathing, a friendly encounter just sufficient to makt the combatants pant with their exertion. " Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath. Does not utter an immature or unsuitable thought ** Most imperious Agamemnon. Imperious and imperial had the same meaning. »> The noble Menelaus. Menelaus would scarcely apply the epithet nable, to him- self; Mr. Ritson supposes that this sentence should be spoken by ^neas. *" I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou. By the utterance of this line as it stands, Achilles would evidently insult Ulysses. Should we not read, though for thou ? *' Vou ruinous butt ; you whoreson nndistinguishable our. This is said in allusion to the deformity of Thersites ; he is called a ruinous butt, on account of his graceless and lump-like figure ; and indistinguishable, because ha is of an unnatural and undeterminato shape. P(r/. 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