Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
Dic. What say you of Kent
Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye: the proudest Peere in the Realme, shall not weare a head on his shoulders, vnlesse he pay me tribute: there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me her Maydenhead ere they haue it: Men shall hold of mee in Capite. And we charge and command, that their wiues be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell Dicke. My Lord, When shall we go to Cheapside, and take vp commodities vpon our billes? Cade. Marry presently All. O braue. Enter one with the heads. Cade. But is not this brauer: Let them kisse one another: For they lou'd well When they were aliue. Now part them againe, Least they consult about the giuing vp Of some more Townes in France. Soldiers, Deferre the spoile of the Citie vntill night: For with these borne before vs, in steed of Maces, Will we ride through the streets, & at euery Corner Haue them kisse. Away. Exit Alarum, and Retreat. Enter againe Cade, and all his rabblement. Cade. Vp Fish-streete, downe Saint Magnes corner, kill and knocke downe, throw them into Thames: Sound a parley. What noise is this I heare? Dare any be so bold to sound Retreat or Parley When I command them kill? Enter Buckingham, and old Clifford.
All. Wee'l follow Cade, Wee'l follow Cade Clif. Is Cade the sonne of Henry the fift, That thus you do exclaime you'l go with him. Will he conduct you through the heart of France, And make the meanest of you Earles and Dukes? Alas, he hath no home, no place to flye too: Nor knowes he how to liue, but by the spoile, Vnlesse by robbing of your Friends, and vs. Wer't not a shame, that whilst you liue at iarre, The fearfull French, whom you late vanquished Should make a start ore-seas, and vanquish you? Me thinkes alreadie in this ciuill broyle, I see them Lording it in London streets, Crying Villiago vnto all they meete. Better ten thousand base-borne Cades miscarry, Then you should stoope vnto a Frenchmans mercy. To France, to France, and get what you haue lost: Spare England, for it is your Natiue Coast: Henry hath mony, you are strong and manly: God on our side, doubt not of Victorie All. A Clifford, a Clifford, Wee'l follow the King, and Clifford Cade. Was euer Feather so lightly blowne too & fro, as this multitude? The name of Henry the fift, hales them to an hundred mischiefes, and makes them leaue mee desolate. I see them lay their heades together to surprize me. My sword make way for me, for heere is no staying: in despight of the diuels and hell, haue through the verie middest of you, and heauens and honor be witnesse, that no want of resolution in mee, but onely my Followers base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake mee to my heeles.
All. God saue the King, God saue the King. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Please it your Grace to be aduertised, The Duke of Yorke is newly come from Ireland, And with a puissant and a mighty power Of Gallow-glasses and stout Kernes, Is marching hitherward in proud array, And still proclaimeth as he comes along, His Armes are onely to remoue from thee The Duke of Somerset, whom he tearmes a Traitor King. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and Yorke distrest, Like to a Ship, that hauing scap'd a Tempest, Is straight way calme, and boorded with a Pyrate. But now is Cade driuen backe, his men dispierc'd, And now is Yorke in Armes, to second him. I pray thee Buckingham go and meete him, And aske him what's the reason of these Armes: Tell him, Ile send Duke Edmund to the Tower, And Somerset we will commit thee thither, Vntill his Army be dismist from him Somerset. My Lord, Ile yeelde my selfe to prison willingly, Or vnto death, to do my Countrey good King. In any case, be not to rough in termes, For he is fierce, and cannot brooke hard Language Buc. I will my Lord, and doubt not so to deale, As all things shall redound vnto your good King. Come wife, let's in, and learne to gouern better, For yet may England curse my wretched raigne.
Cade. By my Valour: the most compleate Champion that euer I heard. Steele, if thou turne the edge, or cut not out the burly bon'd Clowne in chines of Beefe, ere thou sleepe in thy Sheath, I beseech Ioue on my knees thou mayst be turn'd to Hobnailes. Heere they Fight. O I am slaine, Famine and no other hath slaine me, let ten thousand diuelles come against me, and giue me but the ten meales I haue lost, and I'de defie them all. Wither Garden, and be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house, because the vnconquered soule of Cade is fled Iden. Is't Cade that I haue slain, that monstrous traitor? Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deede, And hang thee o're my Tombe, when I am dead. Ne're shall this blood be wiped from thy point, But thou shalt weare it as a Heralds coate, To emblaze the Honor that thy Master got Cade. Iden farewell, and be proud of thy victory: Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the World to be Cowards: For I that neuer feared any, am vanquished by Famine, not by Valour. Dyes. Id. How much thou wrong'st me, heauen be my iudge; Die damned Wretch, the curse of her that bare thee: And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, So wish I, I might thrust thy soule to hell. Hence will I dragge thee headlong by the heeles Vnto a dunghill, which shall be thy graue, And there cut off thy most vngracious head, Which I will beare in triumph to the King, Leauing thy trunke for Crowes to feed vpon. Enter.
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.
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.
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 Richard. An Oath is of no moment, being not tooke Before a true and lawfull Magistrate, That hath authoritie ouer him that sweares. Henry had none, but did vsurpe the place. Then seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your Oath, my Lord, is vaine and friuolous. Therefore to Armes: and Father doe but thinke, How sweet a thing it is to weare a Crowne, Within whose Circuit is Elizium, And all that Poets faine of Blisse and Ioy. Why doe we linger thus? I cannot rest, Vntill the White Rose that I weare, be dy'de Euen in the luke-warme blood of Henries heart Yorke. Richard ynough: I will be King, or dye. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this Enterprise. Thou Richard shalt to the Duke of Norfolke, And tell him priuily of our intent. You Edward shall vnto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise. In them I trust: for they are Souldiors, Wittie, courteous, liberall, full of spirit. While you are thus imploy'd, what resteth more? But that I seeke occasion how to rise, And yet the King not priuie to my Drift, Nor any of the House of Lancaster. Enter Gabriel.
But stay, what Newes? Why comm'st thou in such poste? Gabriel. The Queene, With all the Northerne Earles and Lords, Intend here to besiege you in your Castle. She is hard by, with twentie thousand men: And therefore fortifie your Hold, my Lord Yorke. I, with my Sword. What? think'st thou, that we feare them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me, My Brother Mountague shall poste to London. Let Noble Warwicke, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we haue left Protectors of the King, With powrefull Pollicie strengthen themselues, And trust not simple Henry, nor his Oathes Mount. Brother, I goe: Ile winne them, feare it not. And thus most humbly I doe take my leaue. Exit Mountague. Enter Mortimer, and his Brother. York. Sir Iohn, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine Vnckles, You are come to Sandall in a happie houre. The Armie of the Queene meane to besiege vs Iohn. Shee shall not neede, wee'le meete her in the field Yorke. What, with fiue thousand men? Richard. I, with fiue hundred, Father, for a neede. A Woman's generall: what should we feare? A March afarre off. Edward. I heare their Drummes: Let's set our men in order, And issue forth, and bid them Battaile straight Yorke. Fiue men to twentie: though the oddes be great, I doubt not, Vnckle, of our Victorie. Many a Battaile haue I wonne in France, When as the Enemie hath beene tenne to one: Why should I not now haue the like successe?
Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay me? Clifford. Thy Father hath Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne. Thou hast one Sonne, for his sake pitty me, Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust, He be as miserably slaine as I. Ah, let me liue in Prison all my dayes, And when I giue occasion of offence, Then let me dye, for now thou hast no cause Clifford. No cause? thy Father slew my Father: therefore dye Rutland. Dij faciant laudis summa sit ista tuæ Clifford. Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet: And this thy Sonnes blood cleauing to my Blade, Shall rust vpon my Weapon, till thy blood Congeal'd with this, doe make me wipe off both. Enter. Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of Yorke. Yorke. The Army of the Queene hath got the field: My Vnckles both are slaine, in rescuing me; And all my followers, to the eager foe Turne back, and flye, like Ships before the Winde, Or Lambes pursu'd by hunger-starued Wolues. My Sonnes, God knowes what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they haue demean'd themselues Like men borne to Renowne, by Life or Death. Three times did Richard make a Lane to me, And thrice cry'de, Courage Father, 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 encountred him: And when the hardyest Warriors did retyre, Richard cry'de, Charge, and giue no foot of ground, And cry'de, A Crowne, or else a glorious Tombe, A Scepter, or an Earthly Sepulchre. With this we charg'd againe: but out alas, We bodg'd againe, as I haue seene a Swan With bootlesse labour swimme against the Tyde, And spend her strength with ouer-matching Waues.
Northumb. What would your Grace haue done vnto him now? Queene. Braue Warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come make him stand vpon this Mole-hill here, That raught at Mountaines with out-stretched Armes, Yet parted but the shadow with his Hand. What, was it you that would be Englands King? Was't you that reuell'd in our Parliament, And made a Preachment of your high Descent? Where are your Messe of Sonnes, to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lustie George? And where's that valiant Crook-back Prodigie, Dickie, your Boy, that with his grumbling voyce Was wont to cheare his Dad in Mutinies? Or with the rest, where is your Darling, Rutland? Looke Yorke, I stayn'd this Napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his Rapiers point, Made issue from the Bosome of the Boy: And if thine eyes can water for his death, I giue thee this to drie thy Cheekes withall. Alas poore Yorke, but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prythee grieue, to make me merry, Yorke. What, hath thy fierie heart so parcht thine entrayles, That not a Teare can fall, for Rutlands death? Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad: And I, to make thee mad, doe mock thee thus.
Edward. Sweet Duke of Yorke, our Prop to leane vpon, Now thou art gone, wee haue no Staffe, no Stay. Oh Clifford, boyst'rous Clifford, thou hast slaine The flowre of Europe, for his Cheualrie, And trecherously hast thou vanquisht him, For hand to hand he would haue vanquisht thee. Now my Soules Pallace is become a Prison: Ah, would she breake from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed vp in rest: For neuer henceforth shall I ioy againe: Neuer, oh neuer shall I see more ioy Rich. I cannot weepe: for all my bodies moysture Scarse serues to quench my Furnace-burning hart: Nor can my tongue vnloade my hearts great burthen, For selfe-same winde that I should speake withall, Is kindling coales that fires all my brest, And burnes me vp with flames, that tears would quench. To weepe, is to make lesse the depth of greefe: Teares then for Babes; Blowes, and Reuenge for mee. Richard, I beare thy name, Ile venge thy death, Or dye renowned by attempting it Ed. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee: His Dukedome, and his Chaire with me is left Rich. Nay, if thou be that Princely Eagles Bird, Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the Sunne: For Chaire and Dukedome, Throne and Kingdome say, Either that is thine, or else thou wer't not his.
Clif. Now Richard, I am with thee heere alone, This is the hand that stabb'd thy Father Yorke, And this the hand, that slew thy Brother Rutland, And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, And cheeres these hands, that slew thy Sire and Brother, To execute the like vpon thy selfe, And so haue at thee. They Fight, Warwicke comes, Clifford flies. Rich. Nay Warwicke, single out some other Chace, For I my selfe will hunt this Wolfe to death. Exeunt. Alarum. Enter King Henry alone. Hen. This battell fares like to the mornings Warre, When dying clouds contend, with growing light, What time the Shepheard blowing of his nailes, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. Now swayes it this way, like a Mighty Sea, Forc'd by the Tide, to combat with the Winde: Now swayes it that way, like the selfe-same Sea, Forc'd to retyre by furie of the Winde. Sometime, the Flood preuailes; and than the Winde: Now, one the better: then, another best; Both tugging to be Victors, brest to brest: Yet neither Conqueror, nor Conquered. So is the equall poise of this fell Warre. Heere on this Mole-hill will I sit me downe, To whom God will, there be the Victorie: For Margaret my Queene, and Clifford too Haue chid me from the Battell: Swearing both, They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead, if Gods good will were so; For what is in this world, but Greefe and Woe.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.