Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
Dic. What say you of Kent
Oh God! me thinkes it were a happy life, To be no better then a homely Swaine, To sit vpon a hill, as I do now, To carue out Dialls queintly, point by point, Thereby to see the Minutes how they runne: How many makes the Houre full compleate, How many Houres brings about the Day, How many Dayes will finish vp the Yeare, How many Yeares, a Mortall man may liue. When this is knowne, then to diuide the Times: So many Houres, must I tend my Flocke; So many Houres, must I take my Rest: So many Houres, must I Contemplate: So many Houres, must I Sport my selfe: So many Dayes, my Ewes haue bene with yong: So many weekes, ere the poore Fooles will Eane: So many yeares, ere I shall sheere the Fleece: So Minutes, Houres, Dayes, Monthes, and Yeares, Past ouer to the end they were created, Would bring white haires, vnto a Quiet graue. Ah! what a life were this? How sweet? how louely? Giues not the Hawthorne bush a sweeter shade To Shepheards, looking on their silly Sheepe, Then doth a rich Imbroider'd Canopie To Kings, that feare their Subiects treacherie? Oh yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude, the Shepherds homely Curds, His cold thinne drinke out of his Leather Bottle, His wonted sleepe, vnder a fresh trees shade, All which secure, and sweetly he enioyes, Is farre beyond a Princes Delicates: His Viands sparkling in a Golden Cup, His bodie couched in a curious bed, When Care, Mistrust, and Treason waits on him.
Alarum. Enter a Sonne that hath kill'd his Father, at one doore: and a Father that hath kill'd his Sonne at another doore. Son. Ill blowes the winde that profits no body, This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of Crownes, And I that (haply) take them from him now, May yet (ere night) yeeld both my Life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? Oh God! It is my Fathers face, Whom in this Conflict, I (vnwares) haue kill'd: Oh heauy times! begetting such Euents. From London, by the King was I prest forth, My Father being the Earle of Warwickes man, Came on the part of Yorke, prest by his Master: And I, who at his hands receiu'd my life, Haue by my hands, of Life bereaued him. Pardon me God, I knew not what I did: And pardon Father, for I knew not thee. My Teares shall wipe away these bloody markes: And no more words, till they haue flow'd their fill King. O pitteous spectacle! O bloody Times! Whiles Lyons Warre, and battaile for their Dennes, Poore harmlesse Lambes abide their enmity. Weepe wretched man: Ile ayde thee Teare for Teare, And let our hearts and eyes, like Ciuill Warre, Be blinde with teares, and break ore-charg'd with griefe Enter Father, bearing of his Sonne.
Son. Ile beare thee hence, where I may weepe my fill Fath. These armes of mine shall be thy winding sheet: My heart (sweet Boy) shall be thy Sepulcher, For from my heart, thine Image ne're shall go. My sighing brest, shall be thy Funerall bell; And so obsequious will thy Father be, Men for the losse of thee, hauing no more, As Priam was for all his Valiant Sonnes, Ile beare thee hence, and let them fight that will, For I haue murthered where I should not kill. Exit Hen. Sad-hearted-men, much ouergone with Care; Heere sits a King, more wofull then you are. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, the Prince, and Exeter. Prin. Fly Father, flye: for all your Friends are fled. And Warwicke rages like a chafed Bull: Away, for death doth hold vs in pursuite Qu. Mount you my Lord, towards Barwicke post amaine: Edward and Richard like a brace of Grey-hounds, Hauing the fearfull flying Hare in sight, With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steele graspt in their yrefull hands Are at our backes, and therefore hence amaine Exet. Away: for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed, Or else come after, Ile away before Hen. Nay take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I feare to stay, but loue to go Whether the Queene intends. Forward, away.
Exeunt. A lowd alarum. Enter Clifford Wounded. Clif. Heere burnes my Candle out; I, heere it dies, Which whiles it lasted, gaue King Henry light. O Lancaster! I feare thy ouerthrow, More then my Bodies parting with my Soule: My Loue and Feare, glew'd many Friends to thee, And now I fall. Thy tough Commixtures melts, Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud Yorke; And whether flye the Gnats, but to the Sunne? And who shines now, but Henries Enemies? O Phoebus! had'st thou neuer giuen consent, That Phæton should checke thy fiery Steeds, Thy burning Carre neuer had scorch'd the earth. And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as Kings should do, Or as thy Father, and his Father did, Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke, They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes: I, and ten thousand in this lucklesse Realme, Had left no mourning Widdowes for our death, And thou this day, had'st kept thy Chaire in peace. For what doth cherrish Weeds, but gentle ayre? And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity? Bootlesse are Plaints, and Curelesse are my Wounds: No way to flye, no strength to hold out flight: The Foe is mercilesse, and will not pitty: For at their hands I haue deseru'd no pitty. The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds, And much effuse of blood, doth make me faint: Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwicke, and the rest, I stab'd your Fathers bosomes; Split my brest.
King. I was annointed King at nine monthes old, My Father, and my Grandfather were Kings: And you were sworne true Subiects vnto me: And tell me then, haue you not broke your Oathes? Sin. No, for we were Subiects, but while you wer king King. Why? Am I dead? Do I not breath a Man? Ah simple men, you know not what you sweare: Looke, as I blow this Feather from my Face, And as the Ayre blowes it to me againe, Obeying with my winde when I do blow, And yeelding to another, when it blowes, Commanded alwayes by the greater gust: Such is the lightnesse of you, common men. But do not breake your Oathes, for of that sinne, My milde intreatie shall not make you guiltie. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded, And be you kings, command, and Ile obey Sinklo. We are true Subiects to the king, King Edward King. So would you be againe to Henrie, If he were seated as king Edward is Sinklo. We charge you in Gods name & the Kings, To go with vs vnto the Officers King. In Gods name lead, your Kings name be obeyd, And what God will, that let your King performe. And what he will, I humbly yeeld vnto. Exeunt. Enter K[ing]. Edward, Gloster, Clarence, Lady Gray.
Wid. 'Twill grieue your Grace, my Sonnes should call you Father King. No more, then when my Daughters Call thee Mother. Thou art a Widow, and thou hast some Children, And by Gods Mother, I being but a Batchelor, Haue other-some. Why, 'tis a happy thing, To be the Father vnto many Sonnes: Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queene Rich. The Ghostly Father now hath done his Shrift Clarence. When hee was made a Shriuer, 'twas for shift King. Brothers, you muse what Chat wee two haue had Rich. The Widow likes it not, for shee lookes very sad King. You'ld thinke it strange, if I should marrie her Clarence. To who, my Lord? King. Why Clarence, to my selfe Rich. That would be tenne dayes wonder at the least Clarence. That's a day longer then a Wonder lasts Rich. By so much is the Wonder in extremes King. Well, ieast on Brothers: I can tell you both, Her suit is graunted for her Husbands Lands. Enter a Noble man Nob. My gracious Lord, Henry your Foe is taken, And brought your Prisoner to your Pallace Gate King. See that he be conuey'd vnto the Tower: And goe wee Brothers to the man that tooke him, To question of his apprehension. Widow goe you along: Lords vse her honourable.
Exeunt. Manet Richard. Rich. I, Edward will vse Women honourably: Would he were wasted, Marrow, Bones, and all, That from his Loynes no hopefull Branch may spring, To crosse me from the Golden time I looke for: And yet, betweene my Soules desire, and me, The lustfull Edwards Title buryed, Is Clarence, Henry, and his Sonne young Edward, And all the vnlook'd-for Issue of their Bodies, To take their Roomes, ere I can place my selfe: A cold premeditation for my purpose. Why then I doe but dreame on Soueraigntie, Like one that stands vpon a Promontorie, And spyes a farre-off shore, where hee would tread, Wishing his foot were equall with his eye, And chides the Sea, that sunders him from thence, Saying, hee'le lade it dry, to haue his way: So doe I wish the Crowne, being so farre off, And so I chide the meanes that keepes me from it, And so (I say) Ile cut the Causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities: My Eyes too quicke, my Heart o're-weenes too much, Vnlesse my Hand and Strength could equall them. Well, say there is no Kingdome then for Richard: What other Pleasure can the World affoord? Ile make my Heauen in a Ladies Lappe, And decke my Body in gay Ornaments, And 'witch sweet Ladies with my Words and Lookes.
Oh miserable Thought! and more vnlikely, Then to accomplish twentie Golden Crownes. Why Loue forswore me in my Mothers Wombe: And for I should not deale in her soft Lawes, Shee did corrupt frayle Nature with some Bribe, To shrinke mine Arme vp like a wither'd Shrub, To make an enuious Mountaine on my Back, Where sits Deformitie to mocke my Body; To shape my Legges of an vnequall size, To dis-proportion me in euery part: Like to a Chaos, or an vn-lick'd Beare-whelpe, That carryes no impression like the Damme. And am I then a man to be belou'd? Oh monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought. Then since this Earth affoords no Ioy to me, But to command, to check, to o're-beare such, As are of better Person then my selfe: Ile make my Heauen, to dreame vpon the Crowne, And whiles I liue, t' account this World but Hell, Vntill my mis-shap'd Trunke, that beares this Head, Be round impaled with a glorious Crowne.
And yet I know not how to get the Crowne, For many Liues stand betweene me and home: And I, like one lost in a Thornie Wood, That rents the Thornes, and is rent with the Thornes, Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Not knowing how to finde the open Ayre, But toyling desperately to finde it out, Torment my selfe, to catch the English Crowne: And from that torment I will free my selfe, Or hew my way out with a bloody Axe. Why I can smile, and murther whiles I smile, And cry, Content, to that which grieues my Heart, And wet my Cheekes with artificiall Teares, And frame my Face to all occasions. Ile drowne more Saylers then the Mermaid shall, Ile slay more gazers then the Basiliske, Ile play the Orator as well as Nestor, Deceiue more slyly then Vlisses could, And like a Synon, take another Troy. I can adde Colours to the Camelion, Change shapes with Proteus, for aduantages, And set the murtherous Macheuill to Schoole. Can I doe this, and cannot get a Crowne? Tut, were it farther off, Ile plucke it downe. Enter. Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, his Sister Bona, his Admirall, call'd Bourbon: Prince Edward, Queene Margaret, and the Earle of Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth vp againe.
Mar. Yes, I agree, and thanke you for your Motion. Sonne Edward, she is Faire and Vertuous, Therefore delay not, giue thy hand to Warwicke, And with thy hand, thy faith irreuocable, That onely Warwickes daughter shall be thine Prin.Ed. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserues it, And heere to pledge my Vow, I giue my hand. He giues his hand to Warw[icke]. Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers shalbe leuied, And thou Lord Bourbon, our High Admirall Shall waft them ouer with our Royall Fleete. I long till Edward fall by Warres mischance, For mocking Marriage with a Dame of France. Exeunt. Manet Warwicke. War. I came from Edward as Ambassador, But I returne his sworne and mortall Foe: Matter of Marriage was the charge he gaue me, But dreadfull Warre shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I, shall turne his Iest to Sorrow. I was the Cheefe that rais'd him to the Crowne, And Ile be Cheefe to bring him downe againe: Not that I pitty Henries misery, But seeke Reuenge on Edwards mockery. Enter. Enter Richard, Clarence, Somerset, and Mountague. Rich. Now tell me Brother Clarence, what thinke you Of this new Marriage with the Lady Gray? Hath not our Brother made a worthy choice? Cla. Alas, you know, tis farre from hence to France, How could he stay till Warwicke made returne? Som. My Lords, forbeare this talke: heere comes the King.
Hast. And Hastings, as hee fauours Edwards cause King. Now, Brother Richard, will you stand by vs? Rich. I, in despight of all that shall withstand you King. Why so: then am I sure of Victorie. Now therefore let vs hence, and lose no howre, Till wee meet Warwicke, with his forreine powre. Exeunt. Enter Warwicke and Oxford in England, with French Souldiors. Warw. Trust me, my Lord, all hitherto goes well, The common people by numbers swarme to vs. Enter Clarence and Somerset. But see where Somerset and Clarence comes: Speake suddenly, my Lords, are wee all friends? Clar. Feare not that, my Lord Warw. Then gentle Clarence, welcome vnto Warwicke, And welcome Somerset: I hold it cowardize, To rest mistrustfull, where a Noble Heart Hath pawn'd an open Hand, in signe of Loue; Else might I thinke, that Clarence, Edwards Brother, Were but a fained friend to our proceedings: But welcome sweet Clarence, my Daughter shall be thine. And now, what rests? but in Nights Couerture, Thy Brother being carelessely encamp'd, His Souldiors lurking in the Towne about, And but attended by a simple Guard, Wee may surprize and take him at our pleasure, Our Scouts haue found the aduenture very easie: That as Vlysses, and stout Diomede, With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus Tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatall Steeds; So wee, well couer'd with the Nights black Mantle, At vnawares may beat downe Edwards Guard, And seize himselfe: I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but onely to surprize him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the Name of Henry, with your Leader.
They all cry, Henry. Why then, let's on our way in silent sort, For Warwicke and his friends, God and Saint George. Exeunt. Enter three Watchmen to guard the Kings Tent. 1.Watch. Come on my Masters, each man take his stand, The King by this, is set him downe to sleepe 2.Watch. What, will he not to Bed? 1.Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemne Vow, Neuer to lye and take his naturall Rest, Till Warwicke, or himselfe, be quite supprest 2.Watch. To morrow then belike shall be the day, If Warwicke be so neere as men report 3.Watch. But say, I pray, what Noble man is that, That with the King here resteth in his Tent? 1.Watch. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the Kings chiefest friend 3.Watch. O, is it so? but why commands the King, That his chiefe followers lodge in Townes about him, While he himselfe keepes in the cold field? 2.Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous 3.Watch. I, but giue me worship, and quietnesse, I like it better then a dangerous honor. If Warwicke knew in what estate he stands, 'Tis to be doubted if he would waken him 1.Watch. Vnlesse our Halberds did shut vp his passage 2.Watch. I: wherefore else guard we his Royall Tent, But to defend his Person from Night-foes? Enter Warwicke, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and French Souldiors, silent all.
Riu. These Newes I must confesse are full of greefe, Yet gracious Madam, beare it as you may, Warwicke may loose, that now hath wonne the day Gray. Till then, faire hope must hinder liues decay: And I the rather waine me from dispaire For loue of Edwards Off-spring in my wombe: This is it that makes me bridle passion, And beare with Mildnesse my misfortunes crosse: I, I, for this I draw in many a teare, And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighes, Least with my sighes or teares, I blast or drowne King Edwards Fruite, true heyre to th' English Crowne Riu. But Madam, Where is Warwicke then become? Gray. I am inform'd that he comes towards London, To set the Crowne once more on Henries head, Guesse thou the rest, King Edwards Friends must downe. But to preuent the Tyrants violence, (For trust not him that hath once broken Faith) Ile hence forthwith vnto the Sanctuary, To saue (at least) the heire of Edwards right: There shall I rest secure from force and fraud: Come therefore let vs flye, while we may flye, If Warwicke take vs, we are sure to dye. Exeunt. Enter Richard, Lord Hastings, and Sir William Stanley. Rich. Now my Lord Hastings, and Sir William Stanley Leaue off to wonder why I drew you hither, Into this cheefest Thicket of the Parke. Thus stand the case: you know our King, my Brother, Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands He hath good vsage, and great liberty, And often but attended with weake guard, Come hunting this way to disport himselfe. I haue aduertis'd him by secret meanes, That if about this houre he make this way, Vnder the colour of his vsuall game, He shall heere finde his Friends with Horse and Men, To set him free from his Captiuitie. Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman with him.
Edw. Thankes good Mountgomerie: But we now forget our Title to the Crowne, And onely clayme our Dukedome, Till God please to send the rest Mount. Then fare you well, for I will hence againe, I came to serue a King, and not a Duke: Drummer strike vp, and let vs march away. The Drumme begins to march. Edw. Nay stay, Sir Iohn, a while, and wee'le debate By what safe meanes the Crowne may be recouer'd Mount. What talke you of debating? in few words, If you'le not here proclaime your selfe our King, Ile leaue you to your fortune, and be gone, To keepe them back, that come to succour you. Why shall we fight, if you pretend no Title? Rich. Why Brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? Edw. When wee grow stronger, Then wee'le make our Clayme: Till then, 'tis wisdome to conceale our meaning Hast. Away with scrupulous Wit, now Armes must rule Rich. And fearelesse minds clyme soonest vnto Crowns. Brother, we will proclaime you out of hand, The bruit thereof will bring you many friends Edw. Then be it as you will: for 'tis my right, And Henry but vsurpes the Diademe Mount. I, now my Soueraigne speaketh like himselfe, And now will I be Edwards Champion Hast. Sound Trumpet, Edward shal be here proclaim'd: Come, fellow Souldior, make thou proclamation.
Edw. 'Tis euen so, yet you are Warwicke still Rich. Come Warwicke, Take the time, kneele downe, kneele downe: Nay when? strike now, or else the Iron cooles War. I had rather chop this Hand off at a blow, And with the other, fling it at thy face, Then beare so low a sayle, to strike to thee Edw. Sayle how thou canst, Haue Winde and Tyde thy friend, This Hand, fast wound about thy coale-black hayre, Shall, whiles thy Head is warme, and new cut off, Write in the dust this Sentence with thy blood, Wind-changing Warwicke now can change no more. Enter Oxford, with Drumme and Colours. War. Oh chearefull Colours, see where Oxford comes Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster Rich. The Gates are open, let vs enter too Edw. So other foes may set vpon our backs. Stand we in good array: for they no doubt Will issue out againe, and bid vs battaile; If not, the Citie being but of small defence, Wee'le quickly rowze the Traitors in the same War. Oh welcome Oxford, for we want thy helpe. Enter Mountague, with Drumme and Colours. Mount. Mountague, Mountague, for Lancaster Rich. Thou and thy Brother both shall buy this Treason Euen with the dearest blood your bodies beare Edw. The harder matcht, the greater Victorie, My minde presageth happy gaine, and Conquest. Enter Somerset, with Drumme and Colours.
Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belou'd, Then if thou neuer hadst deseru'd our hate Rich. Welcome good Clarence, this is Brother-like Warw. Oh passing Traytor, periur'd and vniust Edw. What Warwicke, Wilt thou leaue the Towne, and fight? Or shall we beat the Stones about thine Eares? Warw. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: I will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee Battaile, Edward, if thou dar'st Edw. Yes Warwicke, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords to the field: Saint George, and Victorie. Exeunt. March. Warwicke and his companie followes. Alarum, and Excursions. Enter Edward bringing forth Warwicke wounded. Edw. So, lye thou there: dye thou, and dye our feare, For Warwicke was a Bugge that fear'd vs all. Now Mountague sit fast, I seeke for thee, That Warwickes Bones may keepe thine companie. Enter.
Clar. A little gale will soone disperse that Cloud, And blow it to the Source from whence it came, Thy very Beames will dry those Vapours vp, For euery Cloud engenders not a Storme Rich. The Queene is valued thirtie thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: If she haue time to breathe, be well assur'd Her faction will be full as strong as ours King. We are aduertis'd by our louing friends, That they doe hold their course toward Tewksbury. We hauing now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingnesse rids way, And as we march, our strength will be augmented: In euery Countie as we goe along, Strike vp the Drumme, cry courage, and away. Exeunt. Flourish. March. Enter the Queene, young Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and Souldiers.
Oxf. Here pitch our Battaile, hence we will not budge. Flourish, and march. Enter Edward, Richard, Clarence, and Souldiers. Edw. Braue followers, yonder stands the thornie Wood, Which by the Heauens assistance, and your strength, Must by the Roots be hew'ne vp yet ere Night. I need not adde more fuell to your fire, For well I wot, ye blaze, to burne them out: Giue signall to the fight, and to it Lords Qu. Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I should say, My teares gaine-say: for euery word I speake, Ye see I drinke the water of my eye. Therefore no more but this: Henry your Soueraigne Is Prisoner to the Foe, his State vsurp'd, His Realme a slaughter-house, his Subiects slaine, His Statutes cancell'd, and his Treasure spent: And yonder is the Wolfe, that makes this spoyle. You fight in Iustice: then in Gods Name, Lords, Be valiant, and giue signall to the fight. Alarum, Retreat, Excursions. Exeunt. Flourish. Enter Edward, Richard, Queene, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset. Edw. Now here a period of tumultuous Broyles. Away with Oxford, to Hames Castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guiltie Head. Goe beare them hence, I will not heare them speake Oxf. For my part, Ile not trouble thee with words Som. Nor I, but stoupe with patience to my fortune. Exeunt.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.