The Works of William Shakespeare

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd 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 wreck.
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 awhile!
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,
In case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hop'd-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. 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 like spirit to himself.
If any such be here,-as God forbid !--
Let him depart before we need his help.

Oxf. 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 may'st thou live
To bear his image, and renew his glories!

Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ;-sweet Oxford, thanks.

Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else.

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

Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and forces.

K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,

Which, by the heavens' 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.

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I

should say,

My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes,
Therefore, no more but this :---Henry, your sovereign,

K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. Oxf. For my part, I'li not trouble thee with words. Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. [Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded. Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward

Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

Glo. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes. Enter Soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD.

K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak.

What, can so young a thorn begin to prick ?—
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

Prince. 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 self-same words to thee,
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!
Glo. That thou might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.
Prince. Let Æsop fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles sort not with this place.
Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that
word.

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to

men.

Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back, rather.

K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. Prince. I know my duty; you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward,--and thou perjur'd George,--And thou mis-shapen Dick,-I tell ye all,

I am your better, traitors as ye are ;-
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer

here.

Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.

[Stabs him.

SCENE VI.]

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

K. Edw. What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

Glo. 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.
Clar. What? what?

Glo. The Tower, the Tower!

[Exit.

Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mo-
ther, boy!

Canst thou not speak?-O traitors! murderers!—
They that stabb'd Cæsar 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 cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers! if you had,
The thought of them would have stirr'd 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!
K. Edw. Away with her; go, bear her hence
perforce.

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me
here;

Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death.
What, wilt thou not?-then, Clarence, do it thou.
Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.
Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do
thou do it.

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

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:
Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her

hence.

Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this
prince!
[Exit, led out forcibly.

K. Edw. Where's Richard gone?
Clar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw. 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-LONDON. A Room in the Tower.
KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in his hand,
the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOSTER.
Glo. Good day, my lord. What, at your book
so hard?

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord:-my lord, I should
say rather;

'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better:
Good Gloster and good devil were alike,

And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord.

Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.
[Exit Lieutenant.
K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the
wolf;

So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.-
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limèd in a
bush,

With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,

Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and
kill'd.

Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragic history.

But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?
Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner?
K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
If murd'ring innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou
didst presume,

Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy,-that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,-
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,——
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
-an evil sign;
The owl shriek'd at thy birth,-a
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit,

An indigested and deformed lump,

Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st-

Glo. I'll hear no more:-Die, prophet, in thy
[Stabs him.
speech:

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.
K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after
this.

[Dies.

O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have

mounted.

See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!-

If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither,-
[Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.-
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried,
"O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!"
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word "love," which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am myself alone.---
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light.
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buz abroad such prophecies,
That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.—
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
[Exit with the body.

SCENE VII.-LONDON. A Room in the Palace. KING EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne: QUEEN ELIZABETH with the infant Prince, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and others, near him.

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. [throne, What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn, Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride! Three dukes of Somerset,--threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions; Two Cliffords, -as the father and the son; And two Northumberlands,-two braver men Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;

With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and

Montague,

That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.-
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.-
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself,
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace:
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo. [Aside.] I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;

For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:-
Work thou the way, and that shall execute.

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely

queen;

And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,

I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou

sprang'st,

Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.—
[Aside.] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his Master,
And cried-all hail! when-as he meant--all harm.
K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar-
garet?

Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
France.-

And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befit the pleasure of the court?

Sound drums and trumpets!-farewell, sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

[Exeunt.

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The Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 2