Than Jephtha s, when he sacrific'd his daughter. K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd, Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike. War. O passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory. [March. Exeunt. SCENE II. -A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarums, and Excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing in WARWICK wounded. K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all. [Exit. War. 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, black veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. I mean, my lords, -those powers, that the queen Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloua, Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. K. Edw. We are advértis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; 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. - Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers. Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet, that he And give more strength to that which hath too much; The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided, Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Orf. 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 ; ford, thanks. Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. Enter a Messenger. -sweet Ox Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. Orf. I thought no less it is his policy, To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. Orf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. March. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood, Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say, My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, reign, Henry, your sove Suppose, that I am now my father's mouth; Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. rince. 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 tha: word. 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. Glo. The Tower! the Tower! [Exit. Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!. Canst thou not speak?- O traitors! murderers! 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 sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee thou do it. Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it? 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 con[Exit Lieutenant. fer. 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 limed 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 tragick 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 murdering 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. Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thy- And orphans for their parents' timeless death, self: '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. Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. - I sent thee thither, [Stabs him again. I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. I have no brother, I am like no brother: And this word-love, which greybeards call divine, Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute. [Aside. 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 : — To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master; all hail ! when as he meant — all harm. } Aside. 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 Margaret? Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light; And cried [Ent. SCENE VII.-The same. 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 throne, Reignier, her father, to the king of France And now what rests, but that we spend the time For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt. ACT 1. Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent, Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean bury'd. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, · He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty ; To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am cúrtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them; Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time; Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days. — |