Chapter 107

Clif. Why what a brood of Traitors haue we heere? Yorke. Looke in a Glasse, and call thy Image so. I am thy King, and thou a false-heart Traitor: Call hither to the stake my two braue Beares, That with the very shaking of their Chaines, They may astonish these fell-lurking Curres, Bid Salsbury and Warwicke come to me. Enter the Earles of Warwicke, and Salisbury.

Clif. Are these thy Beares? Wee'l bate thy Bears to death, And manacle the Berard in their Chaines, If thou dar'st bring them to the bayting place

Rich. Oft haue I seene a hot ore-weening Curre, Run backe and bite, because he was with-held, Who being suffer'd with the Beares fell paw, Hath clapt his taile, betweene his legges and cride, And such a peece of seruice will you do, If you oppose your selues to match Lord Warwicke

Clif. Hence heape of wrath, foule indigested lumpe, As crooked in thy manners, as thy shape

Yor. Nay we shall heate you thorowly anon

Clif. Take heede least by your heate you burne your selues: King. Why Warwicke, hath thy knee forgot to bow? Old Salsbury, shame to thy siluer haire, Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sicke sonne, What wilt thou on thy death-bed play the Ruffian? And seeke for sorrow with thy Spectacles? Oh where is Faith? Oh, where is Loyalty? If it be banisht from the frostie head, Where shall it finde a harbour in the earth? Wilt thou go digge a graue to finde out Warre, And shame thine honourable Age with blood? Why art thou old, and want'st experience? Or wherefore doest abuse it, if thou hast it? For shame in dutie bend thy knee to me, That bowes vnto the graue with mickle age

Sal. My Lord, I haue considered with my selfe The Title of this most renowned Duke, And in my conscience, do repute his grace The rightfull heyre to Englands Royall seate

King. Hast thou not sworne Allegeance vnto me? Sal. I haue

Ki. Canst thou dispense with heauen for such an oath? Sal. It is great sinne, to sweare vnto a sinne: But greater sinne to keepe a sinfull oath: Who can be bound by any solemne Vow To do a murd'rous deede, to rob a man, To force a spotlesse Virgins Chastitie, To reaue the Orphan of his Patrimonie, To wring the Widdow from her custom'd right, And haue no other reason for this wrong, But that he was bound by a solemne Oath? Qu. A subtle Traitor needs no Sophister

King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arme himselfe

Yorke. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolu'd for death and dignitie

Old Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreames proue true War. You were best to go to bed, and dreame againe, To keepe thee from the Tempest of the field

Old Clif. I am resolu'd to beare a greater storme, Then any thou canst coniure vp to day: And that Ile write vpon thy Burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy housed Badge

War. Now by my Fathers badge, old Neuils Crest, The rampant Beare chain'd to the ragged staffe, This day Ile weare aloft my Burgonet, As on a Mountaine top, the Cedar shewes, That keepes his leaues inspight of any storme, Euen to affright thee with the view thereof

Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet Ile rend thy Beare, And tread it vnder foot with all contempt, Despight the Bearard, that protects the Beare

Yo.Clif. And so to Armes victorious Father, To quell the Rebels, and their Complices

Rich. Fie, Charitie for shame, speake not in spight, For you shall sup with Iesu Christ to night

Yo.Clif. Foule stygmaticke that's more then thou canst tell

Ric. If not in heauen, you'l surely sup in hell.

Exeunt.

Enter Warwicke.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwicke calles: And if thou dost not hide thee from the Beare, Now when the angrie Trumpet sounds alarum, And dead mens cries do fill the emptie ayre, Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me, Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to armes. Enter Yorke.

War. How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot

Yor. The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed: But match to match I haue encountred him, And made a prey for Carrion Kytes and Crowes Euen of the bonnie beast he loued so well. Enter Clifford.

War. Of one or both of vs the time is come

Yor. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chace For I my selfe must hunt this Deere to death

War. Then nobly Yorke, 'tis for a Crown thou fightst: As I intend Clifford to thriue to day, It greeues my soule to leaue thee vnassail'd.

Exit War.

Clif. What seest thou in me Yorke? Why dost thou pause? Yorke. With thy braue bearing should I be in loue, But that thou art so fast mine enemie

Clif. Nor should thy prowesse want praise & esteeme, But that 'tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason

Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword, As I in iustice, and true right expresse it

Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both

Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly

Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes

Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for y art still, Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will. Enter yong Clifford.

Clif. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout, Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell, Whom angry heauens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part, Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye. He that is truly dedicate to Warre, Hath no selfe-loue: nor he that loues himselfe, Hath not essentially, but by circumstance The name of Valour. O let the vile world end, And the premised Flames of the Last day, Knit earth and heauen together. Now let the generall Trumpet blow his blast, Particularities, and pettie sounds To cease. Was't thou ordain'd (deere Father) To loose thy youth in peace, and to atcheeue The Siluer Liuery of aduised Age, And in thy Reuerence, and thy Chaire-dayes, thus To die in Ruffian battell? Euen at this sight, My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine, It shall be stony. Yorke, not our old men spares: No more will I their Babes, Teares Virginall, Shall be to me, euen as the Dew to Fire, And Beautie, that the Tyrant oft reclaimes, Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oyle and Flax: Henceforth, I will not haue to do with pitty. Meet I an infant of the house of Yorke, Into as many gobbits will I cut it As wilde Medea yong Absirtis did. In cruelty, will I seeke out my Fame. Come thou new ruine of olde Cliffords house: As did Aeneas old Anchyses beare, So beare I thee vpon my manly shoulders: But then, Aeneas bare a liuing loade; Nothing so heauy as these woes of mine. Enter Richard, and Somerset to fight.

Rich. So lye thou there: For vnderneath an Ale-house paltry signe, The Castle in S[aint]. Albons, Somerset Hath made the Wizard famous in his death: Sword, hold thy temper; Heart, be wrathfull still: Priests pray for enemies, but Princes kill.

Fight. Excursions.

Enter King, Queene, and others.

Qu. Away my Lord, you are slow, for shame away

King. Can we outrun the Heauens? Good Margaret stay

Qu. What are you made of? You'l nor fight nor fly: Now is it manhood, wisedome, and defence, To giue the enemy way, and to secure vs By what we can, which can no more but flye.

Alarum a farre off.

If you be tane, we then should see the bottome Of all our Fortunes: but if we haply scape, (As well we may, if not through your neglect) We shall to London get, where you are lou'd, And where this breach now in our Fortunes made May readily be stopt. Enter Clifford.

Clif. But that my hearts on future mischeefe set, I would speake blasphemy ere bid you flye: But flye you must: Vncureable discomfite Reignes in the hearts of all our present parts. Away for your releefe, and we will liue To see their day, and them our Fortune giue. Away my Lord, away.

Exeunt.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Yorke, Richard, Warwicke, and Soldiers, with Drum & Colours.

Yorke. Of Salsbury, who can report of him, That Winter Lyon, who in rage forgets Aged contusions, and all brush of Time: And like a Gallant, in the brow of youth, Repaires him with Occasion. This happy day Is not it selfe, nor haue we wonne one foot, If Salsbury be lost

Rich. My Noble Father: Three times to day I holpe him to his horse, Three times bestrid him: Thrice I led him off, Perswaded him from any further act: But still where danger was, still there I met him, And like rich hangings in a homely house, So was his Will, in his old feeble body, But Noble as he is, looke where he comes. Enter Salisbury.

Sal. Now by my Sword, well hast thou fought to day: By'th' Masse so did we all. I thanke you Richard. God knowes how long it is I haue to liue: And it hath pleas'd him that three times to day You haue defended me from imminent death. Well Lords, we haue not got that which we haue, 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, Being opposites of such repayring Nature

Yorke. I know our safety is to follow them, For (as I heare) the King is fled to London, To call a present Court of Parliament: Let vs pursue him ere the Writs go forth. What sayes Lord Warwicke, shall we after them? War. After them: nay before them if we can: Now by my hand (Lords) 'twas a glorious day. Saint Albons battell wonne by famous Yorke, Shall be eterniz'd in all Age to come. Sound Drumme and Trumpets, and to London all, And more such dayes as these, to vs befall.

Exeunt.

FINIS. The second Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Good Duke HVMFREY.

The third Part of Henry the Sixt

with the death of the Duke of Yorke

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Alarum.

Enter Plantagenet, Edward, Richard, Norfolke, Mountague, Warwicke, and Souldiers.

Warwicke. I Wonder how the King escap'd our hands? Pl. While we pursu'd the Horsmen of y North, He slyly stole away, and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose Warlike eares could neuer brooke retreat, Chear'd vp the drouping Army, and himselfe. Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford all a-brest Charg'd our maine Battailes Front: and breaking in, Were by the Swords of common Souldiers slaine

Edw. Lord Staffords Father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slaine or wounded dangerous. I cleft his Beauer with a down-right blow: That this is true (Father) behold his blood

Mount. And Brother, here's the Earle of Wiltshires blood, Whom I encountred as the Battels ioyn'd

Rich. Speake thou for me, and tell them what I did

Plan. Richard hath best deseru'd of all my sonnes: But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? Nor. Such hope haue all the line of Iohn of Gaunt

Rich. Thus do I hope to shake King Henries head

Warw. And so doe I, victorious Prince of Yorke. Before I see thee seated in that Throne, Which now the House of Lancaster vsurpes, I vow by Heauen, these eyes shall neuer close. This is the Pallace of the fearefull King, And this the Regall Seat: possesse it Yorke, For this is thine, and not King Henries Heires

Plant. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will, For hither we haue broken in by force

Norf. Wee'le all assist you: he that flyes, shall dye

Plant. Thankes gentle Norfolke, stay by me my Lords, And Souldiers stay and lodge by me this Night.

They goe vp.

Warw. And when the King comes, offer him no violence, Vnlesse he seeke to thrust you out perforce

Plant. The Queene this day here holds her Parliament, But little thinkes we shall be of her counsaile, By words or blowes here let vs winne our right

Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this House

Warw. The bloody Parliament shall this be call'd, Vnlesse Plantagenet, Duke of Yorke, be King, And bashfull Henry depos'd, whose Cowardize Hath made vs by-words to our enemies

Plant. Then leaue me not, my Lords be resolute, I meane to take possession of my Right

Warw. Neither the King, nor he that loues him best, The prowdest hee that holds vp Lancaster, Dares stirre a Wing, if Warwick shake his Bells. Ile plant Plantagenet, root him vp who dares: Resolue thee Richard, clayme the English Crowne.

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northumberland, Westmerland, Exeter, and the rest.

Henry. My Lords, looke where the sturdie Rebell sits, Euen in the Chayre of State: belike he meanes, Backt by the power of Warwicke, that false Peere, To aspire vnto the Crowne, and reigne as King. Earle of Northumberland, he slew thy Father, And thine, Lord Clifford, & you both haue vow'd reuenge On him, his sonnes, his fauorites, and his friends

Northumb. If I be not, Heauens be reueng'd on me

Clifford. The hope thereof, makes Clifford mourne in Steele

Westm. What, shall we suffer this? lets pluck him down, My heart for anger burnes, I cannot brooke it

Henry. Be patient, gentle Earle of Westmerland

Clifford. Patience is for Poultroones, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your Father liu'd. My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament Let vs assayle the Family of Yorke

North. Well hast thou spoken, Cousin be it so

Henry. Ah, know you not the Citie fauours them, And they haue troupes of Souldiers at their beck? Westm. But when the Duke is slaine, they'le quickly flye

Henry. Farre be the thought of this from Henries heart, To make a Shambles of the Parliament House. Cousin of Exeter, frownes, words, and threats, Shall be the Warre that Henry meanes to vse. Thou factious Duke of Yorke descend my Throne, And kneele for grace and mercie at my feet, I am thy Soueraigne

Yorke. I am thine

Exet. For shame come downe, he made thee Duke of Yorke

Yorke. It was my Inheritance, as the Earledome was

Exet. Thy Father was a Traytor to the Crowne

Warw. Exeter thou art a Traytor to the Crowne, In following this vsurping Henry

Clifford. Whom should hee follow, but his naturall King? Warw. True Clifford, that's Richard Duke of Yorke

Henry. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my Throne? Yorke. It must and shall be so, content thy selfe

Warw. Be Duke of Lancaster, let him be King

Westm. He is both King, and Duke of Lancaster, And that the Lord of Westmerland shall maintaine

Warw. And Warwick shall disproue it. You forget, That we are those which chas'd you from the field, And slew your Fathers, and with Colours spread Marcht through the Citie to the Pallace Gates

Northumb. Yes Warwicke, I remember it to my griefe, And by his Soule, thou and thy House shall rue it

Westm. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy Sonnes, Thy Kinsmen, and thy Friends, Ile haue more liues Then drops of bloud were in my Fathers Veines

Cliff. Vrge it no more, lest that in stead of words, I send thee, Warwicke, such a Messenger, As shall reuenge his death, before I stirre

Warw. Poore Clifford, how I scorne his worthlesse Threats

Plant. Will you we shew our Title to the Crowne? If not, our Swords shall pleade it in the field

Henry. What Title hast thou Traytor to the Crowne? My Father was as thou art, Duke of Yorke, Thy Grandfather Roger Mortimer, Earle of March. I am the Sonne of Henry the Fift, Who made the Dolphin and the French to stoupe, And seiz'd vpon their Townes and Prouinces

Warw. Talke not of France, sith thou hast lost it all

Henry. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd, I was but nine moneths old

Rich. You are old enough now, And yet me thinkes you loose: Father teare the Crowne from the Vsurpers Head

Edward. Sweet Father doe so, set it on your Head

Mount. Good Brother, As thou lou'st and honorest Armes, Let's fight it out, and not stand cauilling thus

Richard. Sound Drummes and Trumpets, and the King will flye

Plant. Sonnes peace

Henry. Peace thou, and giue King Henry leaue to speake

Warw. Plantagenet shal speake first: Heare him Lords, And be you silent and attentiue too, For he that interrupts him, shall not liue

Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leaue my Kingly Throne, Wherein my Grandsire and my Father sat? No: first shall Warre vnpeople this my Realme; I, and their Colours often borne in France, And now in England, to our hearts great sorrow, Shall be my Winding-sheet. Why faint you Lords? My Title's good, and better farre then his

Warw. Proue it Henry, and thou shalt be King

Hen. Henry the Fourth by Conquest got the Crowne

Plant. 'Twas by Rebellion against his King

Henry. I know not what to say, my Titles weake: Tell me, may not a King adopt an Heire? Plant. What then? Henry. And if he may, then am I lawfull King: For Richard, in the view of many Lords, Resign'd the Crowne to Henry the Fourth, Whose Heire my Father was, and I am his

Plant. He rose against him, being his Soueraigne, And made him to resigne his Crowne perforce

Warw. Suppose, my Lords, he did it vnconstrayn'd, Thinke you 'twere preiudiciall to his Crowne? Exet. No: for he could not so resigne his Crowne, But that the next Heire should succeed and reigne

Henry. Art thou against vs, Duke of Exeter? Exet. His is the right, and therefore pardon me

Plant. Why whisper you, my Lords, and answer not? Exet. My Conscience tells me he is lawfull King

Henry. All will reuolt from me, and turne to him

Northumb. Plantagenet, for all the Clayme thou lay'st, Thinke not, that Henry shall be so depos'd

Warw. Depos'd he shall be, in despight of all

Northumb. Thou art deceiu'd: 'Tis not thy Southerne power Of Essex, Norfolke, Suffolke, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and prowd, Can set the Duke vp in despight of me

Clifford. King Henry, be thy Title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vowes to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape, and swallow me aliue, Where I shall kneele to him that slew my Father

Henry. Oh Clifford, how thy words reuiue my heart

Plant. Henry of Lancaster, resigne thy Crowne: What mutter you, or what conspire you Lords? Warw. Doe right vnto this Princely Duke of Yorke, Or I will fill the House with armed men, And ouer the Chayre of State, where now he sits, Write vp his Title with vsurping blood.

He stampes with his foot, and the Souldiers shew themselues.

Henry. My Lord of Warwick, heare but one word, Let me for this my life time reigne as King

Plant. Confirme the Crowne to me and to mine Heires, And thou shalt reigne in quiet while thou liu'st

Henry. I am content: Richard Plantagenet Enioy the Kingdome after my decease

Clifford. What wrong is this vnto the Prince, your Sonne? Warw. What good is this to England, and himselfe? Westm. Base, fearefull, and despayring Henry

Clifford. How hast thou iniur'd both thy selfe and vs? Westm. I cannot stay to heare these Articles

Northumb. Nor I

Clifford. Come Cousin, let vs tell the Queene these Newes

Westm. Farwell faint-hearted and degenerate King, In whose cold blood no sparke of Honor bides

Northumb. Be thou a prey vnto the House of Yorke, And dye in Bands, for this vnmanly deed

Cliff. In dreadfull Warre may'st thou be ouercome, Or liue in peace abandon'd and despis'd

Warw. Turne this way Henry, and regard them not

Exeter. They seeke reuenge, and therefore will not yeeld? Henry. Ah Exeter

Warw. Why should you sigh, my Lord? Henry. Not for my selfe Lord Warwick, but my Sonne, Whom I vnnaturally shall dis-inherite. But be it as it may: I here entayle The Crowne to thee and to thine Heires for euer, Conditionally, that heere thou take an Oath, To cease this Ciuill Warre: and whil'st I liue, To honor me as thy King, and Soueraigne: And neyther by Treason nor Hostilitie, To seeke to put me downe, and reigne thy selfe

Plant. This Oath I willingly take, and will performe

Warw. Long liue King Henry: Plantagenet embrace him

Henry. And long liue thou, and these thy forward Sonnes

Plant. Now Yorke and Lancaster are reconcil'd

Exet. Accurst be he that seekes to make them foes.

Senet. Here they come downe.

Plant. Farewell my gracious Lord, Ile to my Castle

Warw. And Ile keepe London with my Souldiers

Norf. And I to Norfolke with my followers

Mount. And I vnto the Sea, from whence I came

Henry. And I with griefe and sorrow to the Court. Enter the Queene.

Exeter. Heere comes the Queene, Whose Lookes bewray her anger: Ile steale away

Henry. Exeter so will I

Queene. Nay, goe not from me, I will follow thee

Henry. Be patient gentle Queene, and I will stay

Queene. Who can be patient in such extreames? Ah wretched man, would I had dy'de a Maid? And neuer seene thee, neuer borne thee Sonne, Seeing thou hast prou'd so vnnaturall a Father. Hath he deseru'd to loose his Birth-right thus? Hadst thou but lou'd him halfe so well as I, Or felt that paine which I did for him once, Or nourisht him, as I did with my blood; Thou would'st haue left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather then haue made that sauage Duke thine Heire, And dis-inherited thine onely Sonne

Prince. Father, you cannot dis-inherite me: If you be King, why should not I succeede? Henry. Pardon me Margaret, pardon me sweet Sonne, The Earle of Warwick and the Duke enforc't me

Quee. Enforc't thee? Art thou King, and wilt be forc't? I shame to heare thee speake: ah timorous Wretch, Thou hast vndone thy selfe, thy Sonne, and me, And giu'n vnto the House of Yorke such head, As thou shalt reigne but by their sufferance. To entayle him and his Heires vnto the Crowne, What is it, but to make thy Sepulcher, And creepe into it farre before thy time? Warwick is Chancelor, and the Lord of Callice, Sterne Falconbridge commands the Narrow Seas, The Duke is made Protector of the Realme, And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safetie findes The trembling Lambe, inuironned with Wolues. Had I beene there, which am a silly Woman, The Souldiers should haue toss'd me on their Pikes, Before I would haue granted to that Act. But thou preferr'st thy Life, before thine Honor. And seeing thou do'st, I here diuorce my selfe, Both from thy Table Henry, and thy Bed, Vntill that Act of Parliament be repeal'd, Whereby my Sonne is dis-inherited. The Northerne Lords, that haue forsworne thy Colours, Will follow mine, if once they see them spread: And spread they shall be, to thy foule disgrace, And vtter ruine of the House of Yorke. Thus doe I leaue thee: Come Sonne, let's away, Our Army is ready; come, wee'le after them

Henry. Stay gentle Margaret, and heare me speake

Queene. Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone

Henry. Gentle Sonne Edward, thou wilt stay me? Queene. I, to be murther'd by his Enemies

Prince. When I returne with victorie to the field, Ile see your Grace: till then, Ile follow her

Queene. Come Sonne away, we may not linger thus

Henry. Poore Queene, How loue to me, and to her Sonne, Hath made her breake out into termes of Rage. Reueng'd may she be on that hatefull Duke, Whose haughtie spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my Crowne, and like an emptie Eagle, Tyre on the flesh of me, and of my Sonne. The losse of those three Lords torments my heart: Ile write vnto them, and entreat them faire; Come Cousin, you shall be the Messenger

Exet. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Enter.

Flourish. Enter Richard, Edward, and Mountague.

Richard. Brother, though I bee youngest, giue mee leaue

Edward. No, I can better play the Orator

Mount. But I haue reasons strong and forceable. Enter the Duke of Yorke.

Yorke. Why how now Sonnes, and Brother, at a strife? What is your Quarrell? how began it first? Edward. No Quarrell, but a slight Contention

Yorke. About what? Rich. About that which concernes your Grace and vs, The Crowne of England, Father, which is yours

Yorke. Mine Boy? not till King Henry be dead

Richard. Your Right depends not on his life, or death

Edward. Now you are Heire, therefore enioy it now: By giuing the House of Lancaster leaue to breathe, It will out-runne you, Father, in the end

Yorke. I tooke an Oath, that hee should quietly reigne

Edward. But for a Kingdome any Oath may be broken: I would breake a thousand Oathes, to reigne one yeere

Richard. No: God forbid your Grace should be forsworne

Yorke. I shall be, if I clayme by open Warre

Richard. Ile proue the contrary, if you'le heare mee speake

Yorke. Thou canst not, Sonne: it is impossible