The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 214

Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met, Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought; But whether 'twas the coldness of the King, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, Or whether 'twas report of her success, Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went: Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards, But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled: the King unto the Queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, In haste post-haste are come to join with you; For in the marches here we heard you were Making another head to fight again.

EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not.

'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.

But in this troublous time what's to be done?

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?

Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords.

WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague.

Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many moe proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.

He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster.

Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.

Now if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'

But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay.

EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st- as G.o.d forbid the hour!- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend.

WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; The next degree is England's royal throne, For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pa.s.s along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets and about our task.

RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.

EDWARD. Then strike up drums. G.o.d and Saint George for us!

Enter a MESSENGER

WARWICK. How now! what news?

MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me The Queen is coming with a puissant host, And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.

Exeunt

SCENE II.

Before York

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

QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompa.s.s'd with your crown.

Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck- To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

Withhold revenge, dear G.o.d; 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside.

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

Not his that spoils her young before her face.

Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?

Not he that sets his foot upon her back, The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.

He, but a Duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire: Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father.

Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them- even with those wings Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight- Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child 'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success?

And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his h.o.a.rding went to h.e.l.l?

I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more!

For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

You promis'd knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.

Edward, kneel down.

KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death.

CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.

Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field: The Queen hath best success when you are absent.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.

PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these n.o.ble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence.

Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

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

EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace And set thy diadem upon my head, Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.

I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are King, though he do wear the crown, Have caus'd him by new act of parliament To blot out me and put his own son in.

CLIFFORD. And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son?

RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD. For G.o.d's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak?

When you and I met at Saint Albans last Your legs did better service than your hands.