Henry VI Part 2

A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign.

A jewel, lock’d into the woefull’st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we; This way fall I to death.

Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.

And mere instinct of love and loyalty, Free from a stubborn opposite intent, As being thought to contradict your liking, Makes them thus forward in his banishment.

And therefore by His majesty I swear, Whose far-unworthy deputy I am, He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death.

As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So one by one we’ll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.

As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law; But God in mercy so deal with my soul As I in duty love my king and country!

Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, Sleeping, or waking, ’tis no matter how, So he be dead; for that is good deceit Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I— And yet herein I judge mine own wit good— This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world, To rid us from the fear we have of him.

But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs.

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, look where he comes.

By water shall he die, and take his end.

Clifford of Cumberland, ’tis Warwick calls! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now when the angry trumpet sounds alarum, And dead men’s cries do fill the empty air, Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me.

Contemptuous base-born callot as she is, She vaunted ’mongst her minions t’ other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father’s lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey’s pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty Cardinal;

DUCH. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell? GLOU. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch; Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.

Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment’st thyself, And these dread curses, like the sun ’gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, And turns the force of them upon thyself.

Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling.

Far be it we should honor such as these With humble suit. No, rather let my head Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any Save to the God of heaven and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncover’d to the vulgar groom.

Far truer spoke than meant. I lose indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play’d me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak.

For God forbid so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general.

For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beauford, that false priest, Have all lim’d bushes to betray thy wings, And fly thou how thou canst, they’ll tangle thee.

For wheresoe’er thou art in this world’s globe, I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us all to meditation.

Give up thy staff. Henry will to himself Protector be, and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide, and lanthorn to my feet; And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov’d Than when thou wert Protector to thy king.

God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman! Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

God’s secret judgment. I did dream tonight The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

Great men have reaching hands; oft have I struck Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.

Gualtier or Walter, which it is, I care not. Never yet did base dishonor blur our name But with our sword we wip’d away the blot;

Had I but said, I would have kept my word; But when I swear, it is irrevocable. If after three days’ space thou here be’st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransom for thy life.

Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honor to disgrace’s feet?

Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions?

He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself Hath not essentially but by circumstance The name of valor.

Heart’s discontent and sour affliction Be playfellows to keep you company! There’s two of you, the devil make a third, And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

Henceforth I will not have to do with pity. Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it As wild Medea young Absyrtus did; In cruelty will I seek out my fame.

Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, Her words yclad with wisdom’s majesty, Makes me from wond’ring fall to weeping joys, Such is the fullness of my heart’s content.

His hair uprear’d, his nostrils stretch’d with struggling; His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp’d And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdu’d.

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 flow’r-de-luce of France.

I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.

I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt. The ancient proverb will be well effected: A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

I will repeal thee, or, be well assur’d, Adventure to be banished myself; And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn’d Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die.

If I depart from thee, I cannot live, And in thy sight to die, what were it else But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe Dying with mother’s dug between its lips;

If thou beest death, I’ll give thee England’s treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

It is great sin to swear unto a sin, But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.

Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, Is term’d the civill’st place of all this isle: Sweet is the country, because full of riches, The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy, Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.

Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.

Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done.

Let pale-fac’d fear keep with the mean-born man, And find no harbor in a royal heart. Faster than spring-time show’rs comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking, His well-proportion’d beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged.

Madam, be still—with reverence may I say— For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity

Madam, ’tis true; and were’t not madness then, To make the fox surveyor of the fold? Who being accus’d a crafty murderer, His guilt should be but idly posted over, Because his purpose is not executed.

Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so I pray you go in God’s name, and leave us.

May Iden live to merit such a bounty, And never live but true unto his liege!

My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation if you can, Or else conclude my words effectual.

My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind. ’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye;

My lord, ’tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

My lords, at once: the care you have of us To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience,

Nay, answer if you can. The Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good counsellor, or no?

No malice, sir, no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

No more of him; for I will deal with him That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. And so break off, the day is almost spent; Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

Now by the ground that I am banish’d from, Well could I curse away a winter’s night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden, And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution; Be that thou hop’st to be, or what thou art Resign to death; it is not worth th’ enjoying.

Now, by my faith, lords, ’twas a glorious day. Saint Albans battle won by famous York Shall be eterniz’d in all age to come. Sound drum and trumpets, and to London all, And more such days as these to us befall!

O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN

O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts, My thoughts that labor to persuade my soul Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life!

O graceless men! They know not what they do.

O peers of England, shameful is this league, Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Rasing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer’d France, Undoing all, as all had never been!

O, let the vile world end, And the premised flames of the last day Knit earth and heaven together!

Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate; Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.

Patience, good lady, wizards know their times. Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire, The time when screech owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand.

Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be! Lord Card’nal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.

Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, While all is shar’d and all is borne away, Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own.

Say that he thrive, as ’tis great like he will, Why then from Ireland come I with my strength, And reap the harvest which that rascal sow’d.

Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum; The business asketh silent secrecy.

Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow uncurable; For being green, there is great hope of help.

Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast, And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Thy grave is digg’d already in the earth.

She’s tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She’ll gallop far enough to her destruction.

Show me one scar character’d on thy skin: Men’s flesh preserv’d so whole do seldom win.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, And in his simple show he harbors treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

So lie thou there; For underneath an alehouse’ paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death. Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

So might your Grace’s person be in danger. The sight of me is odious in their eyes; And therefore in this city will I stay And live alone as secret as I may.

So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep, and ’twixt each groan Say, Who’s a traitor, Gloucester he is none.

Soldiers, this day have you redeem’d your lives, And show’d how well you love your prince and country: Continue still in this so good a mind, And Henry, though he be infortunate, Assure yourselves, will never be unkind.

Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But soft, I think she comes, and I’ll prepare My tear-stain’d eyes to see her miseries.

Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead. Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat, To emblaze the honor that thy master got.

That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once— His lady banish’d, and a limb lopp’d off. This staff of honor raught, there let it stand, Where it best fits to be, in Henry’s hand.

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.

That is to see how deep my grave is made, For with his soul fled all my worldly solace; For seeing him, I see my life in death.

The commons hast thou rack’d, the clergy’s bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

The commons, like an angry hive of bees That want their leader, scatter up and down, And care not who they sting in his revenge.

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night;

The pretty vaulting sea refus’d to drown me, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown’d on shore With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness

The splitting rocks cow’r’d in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

The winds grow high, so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter

Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together, And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honor of his birthright to the crown.

Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize, For whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discolored shore.

They are all in order, and march toward us. CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, march forward.

They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch.

This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.

This is the day appointed for the combat, And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armorer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your Highness to behold the fight.

This small inheritance my father left me Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. I seek not to wax great by others’ waning, Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy.

Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.

Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave.

Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud, And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold; So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.

Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence; A wilderness is populous enough, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world; And where thou art not, desolation.

Tis that they seek; and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SAL. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.

To France, to France, and get what you have lost! Spare England, for it is your native coast. Henry hath money, you are strong and manly; God on our side, doubt not of victory.

To die by thee were but to die in jest, From thee to die were torture more than death. O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

To signify unto his Majesty That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death; For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.

Tomorrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly, And call these foul offenders to their answers, And poise the cause in justice’ equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.

Trowest thou that e’er I’ll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoys the sun? No; dark shall be my light, and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.

True nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear than you dare execute.

Twas men I lack’d, and you will give them me; I take it kindly. Yet be well assur’d You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;

Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding.

Virtue is chok’d with foul ambition, And charity chas’d hence by rancor’s hand; Foul subornation is predominant, And equity exil’d your Highness’ land.

Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate.

Was ever king that joy’d an earthly throne And could command no more content than I? No sooner was I crept out of my cradle But I was made a king, at nine months old. Was never subject long’d to be a king As I do long and wish to be a subject.

Was’t I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman. Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I could set my ten commandements in your face.

Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume’s knavery will be the Duchess’ wrack, And her attainture will be Humphrey’s fall. Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

What did I then, but curs’d the gentle gusts, And he that loos’d them forth their brazen caves, And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?

What dream’d my lord? Tell me, and I’ll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream.

What know I how the world may deem of me, For it is known we were but hollow friends?

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm’d that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. A

What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven’s note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow’rs; And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

What, is’t too short? I’ll lengthen it with mine, And having both together heav’d it up, We’ll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

What, shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester’s governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke?

When from Saint Albans we do make return, We’ll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward. Make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

While these do labor for their own preferment, Behooves it us to labor for the realm.

Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh, And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect ’twas he that made the slaughter?

Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears, Theirs for the earth’s increase, mine for my sorrows?

Yet do not go away. Come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; For in the shade of death I shall find joy; In life but double death, now Gloucester’s dead.