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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.
Now, Montague, sit fast; seek for thee,
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.

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

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Lo! now my glory smear'd 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

And, live we how we can, yet die we must.


Som. Ah! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as

we are,

We might recover all our loss again.


The queen from France hath brought a puissant


Even now we heard the news. Ah! could'st thou fly.

Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
That mought not be distinguish'd; but at last
I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan,
'O! farewell, Warwick.'

War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and
save yourselves;

For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. Dies.

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! Exeunt, bearing of WARWICK'S body.

SCENE III.-Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD in triumph; with CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, and the rest.

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward


And we are grac'd 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 rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.


Clar. 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.
Glou. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand

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 advertis'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.
Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-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.
What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd 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,

War. Why, then I would not fly. Ah! And give more strength to that which hath too

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 coli congealed blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Som. Ah! Warwick, Montague hath breath'd
his last;

40 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,


Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock, 10
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
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 slaughter'd 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 allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?


We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keepour course, though the rough wind say no,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with

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:
Best ride the rock; the tide will wash you off, 31
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

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.

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Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,

Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. so
You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

Alarum. Retreat. Excursions. Exeunt.

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, and Forces; with Queen MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, Prisoners. K. Edw. 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. Oxf. For my part, I'll 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

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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, Which, traitor, thou would'st have me answer to. Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 20 Q. Mar. Ah! that thy father had been so resolv'd.

Glou. That you might still have worn the petticoat,

And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. Prince. Let Esop fable in a winter's night; His currish riddles sort not with this place. Glou. By heaven, brat, I 'll plague ye for that word.

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

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Clar. And there's for perjury.

K. Edw. Take that, thou likeness of this railer | Now march we hence: discharge the common sort here. Stabs him. With pay and thanks, and let 's away to London Glou. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy And see our gentle queen how well she fares: agony. Stabs him. By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. twitting me with Stabs him. 40 Offers to kill her. hold! for we have

Q. Mar. O kill me too.
Glou. Marry, and shall.
K. Edw. Hold, Richard,
done too much.

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

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

SCENE VI.-London. The Tower.

King HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOUCESTER.

Glou. Good day, my lord. What! at your book so hard?

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

Glou. Clarence, excuse me to the king my 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better: brother;

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Q. Mar. O Ned! sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, 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


But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off


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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 putt'st back. 80 K. Edw. Away, I say! I charge ye, bear her hence.

Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this prince! Exit.

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. Ed. He's sudden if a thing comes in his


'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'

Glou. 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? Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.


K. Hon. 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.

Glou. Why, what a peevish fool was that of

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; a
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!
Glou. 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.

Glou. 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,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down

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 undigest 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-


Glou. 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

O! God forgive my sins, and pardon thee.

What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down in tops of all their

60 Dies.

Glou. What! will the aspiring blood of Lan

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


Sink in the ground? I thought it would have

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.


With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and


That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they

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



Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
And made our footstool of security.
armours watch'd the winter's
Have in our
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in

And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 20
Glou. 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



Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute.
K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, love my
lovely queen;

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

Q. Eliz. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

Be resident in men like one another

Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,

And not in me: I am myself alone.

Aside. To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his

Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light; Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buzz 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, 90
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.-The Same. A Room in the Palace. King EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne; Queen ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the young Prince, and


K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.



And cried 'all hail!' when as he meant all harm.

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, Clar. What will your grace have done with Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. Margaret?

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


With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befits the pleasure of the court?
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy!


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Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Soldiers, etc.

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard the Third.


SCENE I.-London. A Street.


Glou. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
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

And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds 10
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 curtail'd of this fair proportion,

Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire.
ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward the Fourth.
MARGARET, Widow of King Henry the Sixth.
DUCHESS OF YORK, Mother to King Edward the
Fourth, Clarence, and Gloucester.

LADY ANNE, Widow of Edward Prince of Wales,
son to King Henry the Sixth; afterwards
married to Richard.

A young Daughter of Clarence, Margaret Plantagenet.


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 see 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,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clar-

ence comes.

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