Part 83

MONTGOMERY. 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.

[_The drum begins to march._]

KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we’ll debate By what safe means the crown may be recovered.

MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words, If you’ll not here proclaim yourself our king, I’ll leave you to your fortune and be gone To keep them back that come to succour you. Why shall we fight if you pretend no title?

RICHARD. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we’ll make our claim. Till then ’tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule.

RICHARD. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.

KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for ’tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem.

MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself, And now will I be Edward’s champion.

HASTINGS. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaimed. Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation.

[_Gives him a paper. Flourish._]

SOLDIER. [_Reads_.] _Edward the Fourth, by the Grace of God, King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, etc._

MONTGOMERY. And whoso’er gainsays King Edward’s right, By this I challenge him to single fight.

[_Throws down his gauntlet._]

ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth!

KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all. If Fortune serve me, I’ll requite this kindness. Now for this night let’s harbour here in York, And when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon We’ll forward towards Warwick and his mates; For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems thee To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! Yet, as we may, we’ll meet both thee and Warwick. Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE VIII. London. The Palace

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Montague, George (Duke of Clarence), Oxford and Exeter.

WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, Hath passed in safety through the Narrow Seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And many giddy people flock to him.

KING HENRY. Let’s levy men and beat him back again.

GEORGE. A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.

WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war. Those will I muster up; and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent The knights and gentlemen to come with thee. Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton, and in Leicestershire shalt find Men well inclined to hear what thou command’st. And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, Like to his island girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, Shall rest in London till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. Farewell, my sovereign.

KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy’s true hope.

GEORGE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness’ hand.

KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate.

MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.

OXFORD. And thus [_kissing Henry’s hand_] I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let’s meet at Coventry.

[_Exeunt all but King Henry and Exeter._]

KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Methinks the power that Edward hath in field Should not be able to encounter mine.

EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.

KING HENRY. That’s not my fear; my meed hath got me fame. I have not stopped mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears. I have not been desirous of their wealth Nor much oppressed them with great subsidies, Nor forward of revenge, though they much erred. Then why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, The lamb will never cease to follow him.

[_Shout within “A York! A York!”_]

EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord, what shouts are these?

Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Soldiers.

KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence, And once again proclaim us King of England. You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow. Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry And swell so much the higher by their ebb. Hence with him to the Tower. Let him not speak.

[_Exeunt some with King Henry._]

And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, Where peremptory Warwick now remains. The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.

RICHARD. Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares. Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT V

SCENE I. Coventry

Enter, Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers and others, upon the walls.

WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

1 MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague? Where is the post that came from Montague?

2 MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

Enter Sir John Somerville.

WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?

SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces And do expect him here some two hours hence.

[_Drum heard._]

WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.

SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies. The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.

WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike, unlooked-for friends.

SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Soldiers.

KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls and sound a parle.

RICHARD. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

WARWICK. O, unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, That we could hear no news of his repair?

KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee? Call Edward King and at his hands beg mercy, And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and plucked thee down, Call Warwick patron and be penitent, And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

RICHARD. I thought, at least, he would have said the King; Or did he make the jest against his will?

WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

RICHARD. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give; I’ll do thee service for so good a gift.

WARWICK. ’Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

KING EDWARD. Why, then, ’tis mine, if but by Warwick’s gift.

WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight; And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.

KING EDWARD. But Warwick’s king is Edward’s prisoner; And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: What is the body when the head is off?

RICHARD. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily fingered from the deck! You left poor Henry at the Bishop’s palace, And ten to one you’ll meet him in the Tower.

KING EDWARD. ’Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

RICHARD. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down. Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.

WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.

KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood: “Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.”

Enter Oxford with drum and colours.

WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes!

OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

[_He and his forces enter the city._]

RICHARD. The gates are open; let us enter too.

KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array, for they no doubt Will issue out again and bid us battle; If not, the city being but of small defence, We’ll quietly rouse the traitors in the same.

WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.

Enter Montague with drum and colours.

MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!

[_He and his forces enter the city._]

RICHARD. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

KING EDWARD. The harder matched, the greater victory. My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.

Enter Somerset with drum and colours.

SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!

[_He and his forces enter the city._]

RICHARD. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the House of York; And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold.

Enter George (Duke of Clarence) with drum and colours.

WARWICK. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; With whom an upright zeal to right prevails More than the nature of a brother’s love.

[_Richard and George whisper._]

Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt if Warwick call.

GEORGE. Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

[_Taking the red rose from his hat and throws the rose at Warwick._]

Look here, I throw my infamy at thee. I will not ruinate my father’s house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother and his lawful King? Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath. To keep that oath were more impiety Than Jephthah’s when he sacrificed his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made That, to deserve well at my brother’s hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, With resolution, whereso’er I meet thee— As I will meet thee if thou stir abroad— To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends. And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

KING EDWARD. Now, welcome more, and ten times more beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.

RICHARD. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.

WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!

KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

WARWICK. Alas! I am not cooped here for defence! I will away towards Barnet presently And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar’st.

KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. Lords, to the field! Saint George and victory!

[_Exeunt. March. Warwick and his company follows._]

SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet

Alarum and excursions. Enter King Edward bringing forth Warwick wounded.

KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear, For Warwick was a bug that feared us all. Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company.

[_Exit._]

WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? Why ask I that? My mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows That I must yield my body to the earth And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top branch overpeered Jove’s spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind. These eyes, that now are dimmed with death’s black veil, Have been as piercing as the midday sun, To search the secret treasons of the world; The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres, For who lived King but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me; and of all my lands Is nothing left me but my body’s length. Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And live we how we can, yet die we must.

Enter Oxford and Somerset.

SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, We might recover all our loss again. The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power; Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!

WARWICK. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague! If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile. Thou lov’st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his last, And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, And said “Commend me to my valiant brother.” And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, That mought not be distinguished; but at last I well might hear, delivered with a groan, “O farewell, Warwick!”

WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves, For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.

[_He dies._]

OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen’s great power!

[_Here they bear away his body. Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Another Part of the Field

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard, George and the rest.

KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are graced with wreaths of victory. But in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat’ning cloud That will encounter with our glorious sun Ere he attain his easeful western bed. I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

GEORGE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud And blow it to the source from whence it came; Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm.

RICHARD. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. If she have time to breathe, be well assured Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

KING EDWARD. We are advertised by our loving friends That they do hold their course toward Tewkesbury. We, having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum! cry “Courage!” and away.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. Plains near Tewkesbury

Flourish. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford and Soldiers.

QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallowed in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still. Is ’t meet that he Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved? Ah, what a shame, ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our topmast; what of him? Our slaughtered friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allowed the skilful pilot’s charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark? Say you can swim: alas, ’tis but a while! Tread on the sand: why, there you quickly sink; Bestride the rock: the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish; that’s a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there’s no hoped-for mercy with the brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided ’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

PRINCE EDWARD. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this as doubting any here; For did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another And make him of the like spirit to himself. If any such be here, as God forbid! Let him depart before we need his help.

OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! Why, ’twere perpetual shame. O, brave young Prince, thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou live To bear his image and renew his glories!

SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to bed and, like the owl by day, If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.

QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset. Sweet Oxford, thanks.

PRINCE EDWARD. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

SOMERSET. But he’s deceived; we are in readiness.

QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

Flourish and march. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers.

KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood Which by the heaven’s assistance and your strength Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out. Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!

QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak Ye see I drink the water of my eye. Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, Is prisoner to the foe, his state usurped, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. You fight in justice. Then, in God’s name, lords, Be valiant and give signal to the fight.

[_Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt both armies_]

SCENE V. Another part of the Field

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers; with Queen Margaret, Oxford and Somerset as prisoners.

KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight. For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

OXFORD. For my part, I’ll not trouble thee with words.

SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

[_Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded._]

QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

RICHARD. It is, and lo where youthful Edward comes.

Enter soldiers with Prince Edward.

KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak. What, can so young a man begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turned me to?

PRINCE EDWARD. Speak like a subject, proud, ambitious York. Suppose that I am now my father’s mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, thy father had been so resolved!

RICHARD. That you might still have worn the petticoat And ne’er have stol’n the breech from Lancaster.

PRINCE EDWARD. Let Aesop fable in a winter’s night; His currish riddle sorts not with this place.

RICHARD. By heaven, brat, I’ll plague you for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

RICHARD. For God’s sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE EDWARD. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

GEORGE. Untutored lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE EDWARD. I know my duty; you are all undutiful. Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are, And thou usurp’st my father’s right and mine.

KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

[_Stabs him._]

RICHARD. Sprawl’st thou? Take that to end thy agony.

[_Stabs him._]

GEORGE. And there’s for twitting me with perjury.

[_Stabs him._]

QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!

RICHARD. Marry, and shall.

[_Offers to kill her._]

KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.

RICHARD. Why should she live to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.

RICHARD. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother. I’ll hence to London on a serious matter. Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

GEORGE. What? What?

RICHARD. The Tower, the Tower!

[_Exit._]

QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy. Canst thou not speak? O traitors, murderers! They that stabbed Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it. He was a man; this, in respect, a child, And men ne’er spend their fury on a child. What’s worse than murderer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst an if I speak; And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropped! You have no children, butchers; if you had, The thought of them would have stirred up remorse. But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD. Away with her; go bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here. Here sheathe thy sword; I’ll pardon thee my death. What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.

GEORGE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

GEORGE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself. ’Twas sin before, but now ’tis charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil’s butcher, Richard, Hard-favoured Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne’er putt’st back.

KING EDWARD. Away, I say! I charge ye, bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince!

[_She is taken out._]

KING EDWARD. Where’s Richard gone?

GEORGE. To London all in post, and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

KING EDWARD. He’s sudden if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let’s away to London And see our gentle Queen how well she fares. By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.