Kent. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. |
|
The KING'S camp on one side. On the other, enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours. |
York. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right, |
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: |
Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, |
To entertain great England's lawful king. |
Ah Sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear? |
Let them obey that know not how to rule; |
This hand was made to handle nought but gold: |
I cannot give due action to my words, |
Except a sword, or sceptre balance it. |
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, |
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. |
|
Enter BUCKINGHAM. |
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? |
The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. |
Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well. |
York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. |
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? |
Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, |
To know the reason of these arms in peace; |
Or why thou,—being a subject as I am,— |
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, |
Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave, |
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. |
York. [Aside.] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great: |
O! I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, |
I am so angry at these abject terms; |
And now, like Ajax Telamonius, |
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. |
I am far better born than is the king, |
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts; |
But I must make fair weather yet awhile, |
Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong. |
[Aloud.] Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, |
That I have given no answer all this while; |
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. |
The cause why I have brought this army hither |
Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, |
Seditious to his Grace and to the state. |
Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part: |
But if thy arms be to no other end, |
The king hath yielded unto thy demand: |
The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. |
York. Upon thine honour, is he a prisoner? |
Buck. Upon mine honour, he is a prisoner. |
York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. |
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; |
Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, |
You shall have pay, and everything you wish, |
And let my sov'reign, virtuous Henry, |
Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, |
As pledges of my fealty and love; |
I'll send them all as willing as I live: |
Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have |
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. |
Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: |
We twain will go into his highness' tent. |
|
Enter KING HENRY, attended. |
K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, |
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? |
York. In all submission and humility |
York doth present himself unto your highness. |
K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost bring? |
York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence, |
And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade, |
Who since I heard to be discomfited. |
|
Enter IDEN, with CADE'S head. |
Iden. If one so rude and of so mean condition |
May pass into the presence of a king, |
Lo! I present your Grace a traitor's head, |
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. |
K. Hen. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art thou! |
O! let me view his visage, being dead, |
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. |
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? |
Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. |
K. Hen. How art thou call'd, and what is thy degree? |
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name; |
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. |
Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss |
He were created knight for his good service. |
K. Hen. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels.] Rise up a knight. |
We give thee for reward a thousand marks; |
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. |
Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, |
And never live but true unto his liege! |
K. Hen. See! Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen: |
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. |
|
Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET. |
Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, |
But boldly stand and front him to his face. |
York. How now! is Somerset at liberty? |
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts |
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. |
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? |
False king! why hast thou broken faith with me, |
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? |
King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; |
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, |
Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. |
That head of thine doth not become a crown; |
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, |
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. |
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, |
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, |
Is able with the change to kill and cure. |
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, |
And with the same to act controlling laws. |
Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more |
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. |
Som. O monstrous traitor:—I arrest thee, York, |
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown. |
Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. |
York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these |
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. |
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail: [Exit an Attendant. |
I know ere they will have me go to ward, |
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. |
Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, |
To say if that the bastard boys of York |
Shall be the surety for their traitor father. [Exit BUCKINGHAM. |
York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, |
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! |
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, |
Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those |
That for my surety will refuse the boys! |
|
Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET, with Forces at one side; at the other, with Forces also, Old CLIFFORD and his Son. |
See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make it good. |
Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. |
Clif. [Kneeling.] Health and all happiness to my lord the king! |
York. I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee? |
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: |
We are thy sov'reign, Clifford, kneel again; |
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. |
Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; |
But thou mistak'st me much to think I do. |
To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? |
K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour |
Makes him oppose himself against his king. |
Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, |
And chop away that factious pate of his. |
Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey: |
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. |
York. Will you not, sons? |
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. |
Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. |
Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! |
York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so: |
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. |
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, |
That with the very shaking of their chains |
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs: |
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. |
|
Drums. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY, with Forces. |
Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, |
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, |
If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. |
Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur |
Run back and bite, because he was withheld; |
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw, |
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cried: |
And such a piece of service will you do, |
If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. |
Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, |
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! |
York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. |
Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves. |
K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? |
Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, |
Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! |
What! wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, |
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? |
O! where is faith? O, where is loyalty? |
If it be banish'd from the frosty head, |
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? |
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, |
And shame thine honourable age with blood? |
Why art thou old, and want'st experience? |
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? |
For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me, |
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. |
Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself |
The title of this most renowned duke; |
And in my conscience do repute his Grace |
The rightful heir to England's royal seat. |
K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? |
Sal. I have. |
K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath? |
Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin, |
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. |
Who can be bound by any solemn vow |
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, |
To force a spotless virgin's chastity, |
To reave the orphan of his patrimony, |
To wring the widow from her custom'd right, |
And have no other reason for this wrong |
But that he was bound by a solemn oath? |
Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. |
K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. |
York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, |
I am resolv'd for death, or dignity. |
Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. |
War. You were best to go to bed and dream again, |
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. |
Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm |
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; |
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, |
Might I but know thee by thy household badge. |
War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, |
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, |
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,— |
As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, |
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,— |
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. |
Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, |
And tread it underfoot with all contempt, |
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. |
Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, |
To quell the rebels and their complices. |
Rich. Fie! charity! for shame! speak not in spite, |
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. |
Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell. |
Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. [Exeunt severally. |
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