(( The true Tragedie of Richard {Duke of Yorke, and the death of} good King Henrie the Sixt. {with the whole contention betweene} the two Houses Lancaster and Yorke, as it was sundrie times acted by the Right Honoura- ble the Earle of Pem- brooke his servants. [Device: Mc Kerrow 302] Printed at London by P.S. for Thomas Milling- {ton, and are to be sold at his shoppe under Saint Peters Church in Cornwal.}1595.))
((T [Ornament]
The true Tragedie of Richard Duke
of Yorke, and the good King Henrie the Sixt.
((Enter {Richard} Duke of Yorke, The Earle of {Warwicke,
*The Duke of} Norffolke,{Marquis Montague, Edward
*Earle of March, Crookeback Richard} and the yong {Earle
*of Rutland} with Drumme and Souldiers, with white ro-
ses in their hats,))
I Wonder how the king escapt our hands.
Whilst we pursude the horsemen
of the North,
He slilie stole awaie and left his men.
Whereat the great Lord of Northum-
land
Whose warlike cares could never brooke retrait,
Chargde our maine battels front, and there with him
Lord {Stafford} and Lord {Clifford} all abreset (slain.
Brake in and were by the hands of common Souldiers
Lord {Staffords} father Duke of {Buckhingham,}
Is either slaine or wounded dangerouslie,
I cleft his Beuer with a downe right blowe:
Father that this is true behold his bloud.
And brother heeres the Earle of {Wiltshires}
Bloud, whom I encountred as the battailes joind.
Speake thou for me and tell them what I did.
What is your grace dead my L. of {Summerset?}
Such hope have all the line of {John} of {Gawnt.}
Thus doe I hope to shape king {Henries} head.
And so do I victorious prince of Yorke,
before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of {Lancaster} usurpes,
I vow by heavens these eies shal never close.
This is the pallace of that fearefull king,
And that the regall chaire? Possesse it Yorke:
For this is thine and not king {Henries} heires.
Assist me then sweet {Warwike,} and I wil:
For hither we are broken in by force.
Weele all assist thee, and he that flies shal die.
Thanks gantle {Norffolke.} Staie by me my Lords,
and souldiers staie you heere and lodge this night:
And when the king comes offer him no
Violence, unlesse he seek to put us out by force.
Armde as we be, lets staie within this house?
The bloudie parlement shall this be calde,
Unlesse {Plantagenet} Duke of Yorke be king
And bashfull {Henrie} be deposde, whose cowardise
Hath made us by words to our enemies.
Then leave me not my Lords: for now I meane
To take possessione of my right.
Neither the king, nor him that loves him best,
The proudest burd that holds up {Lancaster.}
Dares stirre a wing if {Warwike} shake his bels.
Ile plant {Plantagenet:} and root him out who dares?
Resolve thee {Richard:} Claime the English crowne.
((Enter king {Henrie} the sixt, with the Duke of {Excester,}
*The Earle of {Northumberland}, the Earle of {Westmerland}
*and {Clifford}, the Earle of {Cumberland,} with red Roses in
their hats.))
And they have troopes of soldiers at their becke?
But when the D. is slaine, theile quicklie flie.
*Far be it from the thoughtes of {Henries} hart,
To make a shambles of the parlement house.
Cosen of {Exeter}, words frownes, and threats,
Shall be the warres the Henrie meanes to use.
Thou factious duke of Yorke, descend my throne,
I am thy soveraigne.
Thou art deciev'd: I am thine.
For shame come downe he made thee D. of {York,}
Twas mine inheritance as the kingdome is.
Thy father was a traytor to the crowne.
{Exeter} thou art a traitor to the crowne.
In following this usurping {Henry}.
Whom should he follow but his naturall king
True {Clif} and that is {Richard} Duke of Yorke.
*
*And shall I stande while thou sittest in my
throne?
Content thyself for it must and shall be so.
Be Duke of Lancaster, and let him be king.
Why? he is both king & Duke of {Lancaster},
And that the Earle of {Westmerland} shall mainetaine.
And {Warwike} shall disprove it. You forget
That we are those that chaste you from the field
And slew your father, and with colours spred,
Marcht through the Cittie to the pallas gates.
No {Warwike} I remember it to my griefe,
And by his soule thou and thy house shall rew it.
{Plantagenet} of thee and of thy sonnes,
Thy kinsmen and thy friendes, Ile have more lives,
Then drops of bloud were in my fathers vaines.
Urge it no more, least in revenge thereof,
I send thee {Warwike} such a messenger,
As shall reveng his death before I stirre.
Poore {Clifford}, how I skorn thy worthles threats
Wil ye we shew our title to the Crowne?
Or else our swords shall plead it in the field?
What title haste thou traitor to the Crowne?
Thy father was as thou art Duke of Yorke,
Thy grandfather {Roger Mortimer} earle of {Marche}
*I am the sonne of {Henrie} the fift who tamde the {French},
And made the Dolphin stoope, and seazd upon their
Townes and provinces.
Talk not of {France} since thou hast lost it all.
The Lord protector lost iyt and not I.
When I was crownd I was but nine months old.
You are olde enough now and yet me thinkes
you lose,
Father teare the Crowne from the Usurpers head.
Do so sweet father, set it on your head.
Good brother as thou lou'st & honorst armes.
Lets fight it out and not stand cauilling thus.
Sound drums and trumpets & the king will fly.
Peace sonnes:
Peace thou and give king, {Henry} leave to
speake.
Ah {Plantagenet}, why seekest thou to depose me?
Are we not both {Plantagenets} by birth,
And from two brothers line allie discent?
Suppose by right and equitie thou be king,
Thinkst thou that I will leave my kingly seate
Wherin my father and my grandsire sat?
No, first shall warre un people this my realme,
I and our colours often borne in {France},
And now in {England} to our harts great sorrow
Shall be my winding sheete, why aint you Lords?
My titles better far than his.
((Enter the Queene and the Prince.))
* Her sonne,
Makes hir in furie thus forget hir selfe.
Revenged maie shee be on that accursed Duke.
Come cosen of {Exeter,} staie thou here,
For {Clifford} and those Northern Lords be gone
I feare towards {Wakefield,} to disturbe the Duke.
((Enter {Edward}, and {Richard}, and {Montague.}))
* And so he walkes insulting over his praie,
And so he turnes againe to rend his limmes in sunder,
Oh {Clifford}, kill me with thy sword, and
Not with such a cruel threatning looke,
I am too meane a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou revengde on men, and let me live.
He be as miserablie slaine as I,
Oh let me live in prison all my daies,
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Tis warres prise to take all advantages.
And ten to one, is no impeach in warres.
((Fight and take him.))
Thou wouldst be feede I see to make me sport.
{Yorke} cannot speake, unlesse he weare a crowne.
A crowne for {Yorke} and Lords bow low to him.
So: hold you his hands, whilst I doe set it on.
I, now lookes he like a king?
This is he that tooke king {Henries} chaire,
And this is he was his adopted aire.
But how is that great {Plantagenet},
Is crownd so soone, and broke his holie oath,
As I bethinke me you should not be king,
^Till our {Henry} had shooke hands with death,
And will you impale your head with {Henries} glorie,
And rob his temples of the Diadem
Now in his life against your holie oath?
Oh, tis a fault too too unpardonable.
Off with his crowne, and with the crowne his head,
And whilst we breath take time to doe him dead.
Thy father beares the type of king of {Naples},
Of both the Sissiles and Jerusalem,
Yet not so wealthie as an English Yeoman.
Htath that poore Monarch taught thee to insult?
It needes not, or it bootes thee not proud Queene,
Unlesse the Adage must be verified:
That beggars mounted, run their horse to death.
Tis beautie, that oft makes women proud,
But God he wots thy share thereof is small.
Tis government, that makes them most admirde,
The contrarie doth make thee wondred at.
Tis vertue that makes them seeme devine.
The want thereof makes thee abhominable.
Thou art as opposite to everie good,
As the {Antipodes} are unto us,
Or as the south to the Septentrion.
Oh Tygers hart wrapt in a womans hide?
How couldst thou draine the life bloud of the childe,
To bid the father wipe his eies withall,
And yet be seene to weare a womans face?
Women are milde, pittiful, and flexible,
Thou indurate, sterne, rough, remorcelesse.
Bids thou me rage? why now thou hast thy will
*Wouldst have me weepe? why so thou hast thy wish.
For raging windes blowes up a storme of teares,
And when the rage alaies the raine begins.
These teares are my sweet {Rutlands} obsequies,
And everie drop begs vengeance as it fals,
On thee fell {Clifford}, and the false French woman.
*For chaire and dukedome, Throne and kingdome saie:
For either that is thine, or else thou wert not his?
((Enter the Earle of {Warwike},{Montague}, with
drum, ancient, and souldiers.))
Our batels joinde, and both sides fiercelie fought.
But whether twas the coldnesse of the king,
He lookt full gentle on his warlike {Queene},
That robde my souldiers of their heated spleene.
Or whether twas report of his successe,
Or more then common feare of {Cliffords} rigor,
Who thunders to his captaines bloud and death,
I cannot tell. But to conclude the truth,
Their weapons like to lightenings went and came.
Our souldiers like the night Owles lasie flight,
Or like an idle threshers flaile,
Fel gentlie down as if they smote their friends.
I cheerd them up with justice of the cause,
With promise of hie paie and great rewardes,
But all in vaine, they had no harts to fight,
Nor we in them no hope to win the daie,
So that we fled. The king unto the {Queene},
Lord {George} your brother, {Norffolke}, and my selfe,
In hast, post hast, are come to join with you,
For in the marches here we heard you were,
Making another head to fight againe.
* Why via, To London will we march amaine,
And once againe bestride our foming steedes,
And once againe crie charge upon the foe,
But never once againe turne back and flie.
* Doth not the object please your eie my Lord?
*
should lose his birth right through his fathers fault?
And long hereafter saie unto his child,
What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
My carelesse father fondlie gave awaie?
Looke on the boy and let his manlie face,
Which promiseth sucessefull fortune to us all,
Steele thy melting thoughtes,
To keepe thine owne,and leave thine owne with him.
He might have kept that glorie till this daie,
But when he took a begger to his bed,
And grast thy poore sire with his bridall daie,
Then that sun-shine bred a showre for him
Which washt his fathers fortunes out of France,
And heapt seditions on his crowne at home.
For what hath mov'd these tumults but thy pride,
Hadst thou beene meeke, our title yet had slept,
And we in pittie of the gentle king,
Had slipt our claime untill an other age.
.
And in that vow now joine my soule to thee,
Thou setter up and puller downe of kings,
vouchsafe a gentle victorie to us,
Or let us die before we loose the daie:
.
Giving no foot unto the house of {Yorke},
I and ten thousand in this wofull land,
Had left no mourning widdows for our deathes,
And thou this daie hadst kept thy throne in peace.
For what doth cherish weedes but gentle aire:
And what makes robbers bold but jenitie.
Bootlesse are plaintes, and curelsse are my woundes,
No waie to flie, no strength to our fight,
The foe is mercilesse and will not pittie me,
And at their hands I have deservde no pittie.
Their aire is got into my bleeding wounds,
And much effuse of bloud doth make me faint,
Come {Yorke} and {Richrad,Warwike} and the rest,
I stabde your fathers, now come split mr brest.
((Enter{Edward} and,{Richard} and {Warwike},
And Souldiers.))
Tis hard, when {Clifford} cannot foord his friend an oath,
By this I know hees dead, and by my soule,
Would this right hand buy but an howres life,
That in all contempt might raile at him.
Ide cut it off and with the issuing bloud,
Stifle the villaine whose instanched thirst,
{Yorke} and young {Rutland} could not satisfie.
Taken, and brought as prisoner to your pallace gates.
.
To Englands king in lawfull marriage.
Thears thy reward, begone.
To have the daughter and heire of the Lord {Hungerford}.
I Would, I cannot run awaie.
Ile come and tell thee what the ladie {Bona} saies,
And so for a while farewell good Duke of {Yorke}.
((Exeunt some with Edward.))
For this night weele harbour here in {Yorke},
And then as earlie as the morning sunne,
Liftes up his beames above this horison
Weele march to London, to meete with {Warwike}:
And pull false {Henry} from the regall throne.
(( Exenms Omnes. ))
(( Enter Warwike and Clarence, with the crowne, and
then king Henry, and Oxford, and summerset,
and the young Earle of Richmond. ))
Awaie with him, I will not heare him speake,
And now towards Coventrie let us bend our course
To meet {Warwike} and his confederates.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
((Enter Warwike on the walles.))
And saie,commend me to my valiant brother,
And more he would have spoke and more he said,
Which founded like a clamor in a vault,
That could not be distinguisht for the sound,
And so the valiant {Montague} gave up the ghost.
And warriors faint, why twere perpetuall
Shame? Oh brave yong Prince, thy
Noble grandfather doth live againe in thee,
Long maiest thou live to beare his image,
And to renew his glories.
That taught his sonne the office
Of a bride, and yet for all that the poore
Fowle was drownde
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me, I am selfe alone,
Prove it {Henrie} and thou shalt be king?
Why {Henrie} the forth by conquest got the
Crowne.
T'was by rebellion gainst his soveraigne.
I know not what to say my titles weake,
Tell me maie not a king adopt an heire?
What then?
I tell thee he rose against him being his
*Soveraigne, & made him to resign perforce.
Suppose my Lord he did it unconstrainde.
Think you that were prejudiciall to the Crowne,
No, for he could not resigne the Crowne,
But that the next heire must succeed and raigne.
Art thou against us, Duke of {Exceter}?
He is right and therefore pardon me.
All will revolt from me and turne to him.
{Plantagenet} for all the claime thou laist,
Think not king {Henry} shall be thus deposde?
Deposde he shall be despight or thee.
*
*Tush {Warwike}, Thou art deceived? tis not thy
Southerne powers of {Essex,Suffolke,Norfolke,} and of
{Kent} that makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
Can set the Duke up in despight of me.
King {Henrie} be thy title right or wrong,
Lord {Clifford} vowes to fight in thy defence.
Maie that ground gape and swallow me alive,
Where I do kneele to him that slew my father.
O {Clifford} how thy words restore my Soule.
I cannot staie to heare these Articles. ((Exit.))
Nor I, Come let us tell the Queene.
Be thou a praie unto the house of {Yorke}
And die in bands for this unkingly deed. ((Exit))
In dreadfuul warre maist thou be overcome,
Or live in peace abandon'd and despisde. ((Exit.))
They seeke revenge, and therefore will not
yeeld my Lord.
Ah {Exeter}?
Why should you figh my Lord?
*
*Not for myselfe Lord {Warwike}, but my sonne,
Whom I unnaturallie shall disinherit.
But be it as maie: I heere intaile the Crowne.
To the and thine heires, conditionallie,
That here thou take thine oath, to cease these civill
Broiles, and whilst I live to honour me as thy king and
Soveraigne.
That oath I willinglie take and will performe.
Long live king {Henry. Plantagenet} embrace
him?
*
*And long live thou and all thy forward sonnes.
Now {Yorke} and {Lancaster} are reconcilde.
Accurst be he that seekes to makes them foes,
((Sound Trumpets.))
*
My Lord Ile take my leave, for Ile to {Wakefield}
To my castell. (({Exit Yorke} and his sonnes.))
*
*And Ile keepe {London} with my souldiers. ((Exit.))
*
*And Ile to {Norffolke} with my followers. ((Exit.))
*
*And I to the sea from whence I came. ((Exit.))
*My Lord heere comes the Queene, Ile steale away.
And so will I.
Naie staie, or else I follow thee.
Be patient gentle {Queene}, and then Ile staie.
What patience can there? ah timerous man,
Thy hast undone thyselfe, thy sonne, and me,
And given our rights unto the house of {Yorke}.
Art thou a king and wille be forst to yeeld?
Had I beene there, the souldiers should have tost
Me on their launces points, before I would have
Granted to their wils. The Duke if made
Made protector of the land: Sterne {Fawconbridge}
Commands the narrow seas. And thinkst thou then
To sleepe secure? I heere divorce me {Henry}
From thy bed, until that Act of Parlement
*Be recalde, wherein thou yeeldest to the house of {Yorke}
The Northern Lords that have forsworne thy colours,
Will follow mine if once they see then spred,
And spread they shall unto thy deepe disgrace.
Come sonne, lets awaie and leave him heere alone.
Gentle sonne {Edwarde}, wilt thou staie with me?
I, to be murdred by his enemies. ((Exit.))
When I returne with victorie from the field.
Ile see thy grace till then Ile follow her. ((Exit.))
*
Poore {Queene}, her love to me and to the prince
Brother and cosen {Montague}, give mee leave to
speake.
Naie I can better plaie the Orator.
But I have reasons strong and forceable.
((Enter the Duke of {Yorke}))
*
Howe nowe sonnes what at a jarre amongst your
felues?
*
No father, but a sweete contention, about that
*which concernes your selfe and us, The crowne of Eng-
land father.
*My Lord, the {Queene} with thirtie thousand men,
Accompanied with the {Earles of {Cumberland},
*Northumberland and Westmerland, and others of the
House of {Lancaster}, are marching towards {Wakefield},
To besiege you in your castell heere.
((Enter sir {Iohn} and sir {Hugh Mortimer}.))
*
A Gods name, let then come. Cosen {Monta-}
{gue} post you hence: and boies staie you with me.
{Sir Iohn and sir Hugh Mortemers} mine uncles,
Your welcome to {Sandall} in this an happle houre,
The armie of the Queene meanes to beseige us.
*Shee shall not neede my Lorde, weele meete
Her in the field.
What with five thousand souldiers uncle?
I father, with five hundred for a need,
A womans generall, what should you feare?
Indeed, manie battels have I woon
In {Normandie}, when as the enimie.
Hath bin ten to one, and why should I now doubt
Of the like successe? I am resolv'd. Come lets goe.
Lets martch awaie, I heare their drums. ((Exit.))
((Alarmes, and then Enter the yong Earle of
{Rutland and his Tutor.))
Oh flie my Lord, lets leave the Castell,
And flie to {Wakefield} straight.
((Enter {Clifford}))
O Tutor looke where bloudie {Clifford} comes.
Chaplin awaie, thy Priesthood saves thy life,
As for the brat of that accursed Duke
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Oh {Clifford} spare this tender Lord, least
Heaven revenge it on thy head: Oh save his life.
Soldiers awaie and drag him hence perforce:
Awaie with the villaine ((Exit the Chaplein))
How now, what dead alreadie? or is it feare that
Make him close his eies? Ile open them.
So lookes the pent up Lion on the lambe,
In vaine thou speakest poore boy: my fathers
*Bloud hath stopt the passage where thy wordes shoulde
enter.
Then let my fathers blood ope it againe? he is a
Man and {Clifford} cope with him.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me.
Or should I dig up thy forefathers graves,
And hang their rotten coffins up in chaines,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my hart.
The sight of anie of the house of {Yorke},
Is as a furie to torment my soule.
Therefore till I root out that cursed line
And leave not one on earth, Ile live in hell therefore.
Oh let me praie, before I take my death.
To thee I praie: Sweet {Clifford} pittie me.
I, such pitti~s my rapiers point affords.
*
I never did thee hurt, wherefore wilt thou kill
mee?
Thy father hath.
But was ere I was borne.
Thou hast one sonne, for his sake pittie me,
Least in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
No cause? Thy Father slew my father, therefore
Die.
{Plantagenet} I come {Plantagenet},
And this thy sonnes bloud cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy bloud
Congeald with his doe make me wipe off both. ((Exit.))
((Alarmes, Enter the Duke of {Yorke solus}.))
Ah {Yorke}, post to thy castell, save thy life,
The goale is lost thou house of {Lancaster},
Thise happie chance is for thee and thine,
The heaven abridge my daies and cals me hence,
But god knows what chance hath betide my sonnes:
But this I know they have demeand themselves,
Like men borne to renowne by life or death,
Three times this daie came {Richard} to my fight,
And twice so came {Edward} to my view,
With purple Faulchen painted to the hilts,
In bloud of those whom he had slaughtered.
Oh harke, I heare the drums? No waie to flie:
No waie to save my life? And heere I staie:
And heere my life must end.
((Enter the Queene, Clifford, Northumberland,
and souldiers.))
Come bloudie {Clifford}, rough {Northumberland},
I dare your quenchlesse furie to more bloud.
This is the But, and this abides your shot.
*Yeeld to our mercies proud {Plantagenet}.
I, to such mercie as this ruthfull arme
With downe right paiment lent unto my father,
Now {Phaeton} hath tumbled from his carre,
And made an evening at the noontide pricke,
My ashes like the {Phoenix} maie bring forth
A bird that will revenge it on you all
And in that hope I cast mine eies to heaven,
Skorning what ere you can afflict me with:
Why staie you Lords? what, multitudes and feare?
*So cowards fight when they can flie no longer:
So Doves doe pecke the Ravens piersing tallents:
So desperate theeves all hopelesse of their lives,
Breath out invectives gainst the officers.
Oh {Clifford,} yest bethink thee once againe.,
And in thy mind oerun my former time:
*And bite thy toung that slanderst him with cowardise,
Whose verie looke hath made thee quake ere this.
I will not bandie words with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blowes twise two for one.
Hold valiant {Clifford} for a thousand causes,
I would prolong the traitors life awhile.
*Wrath makes him death, speake thou {Northumberland.}
Hold {Clifford,} doe not honour him so much,
To pricke thy finger though to wound his hart:
What valure were it when a curre doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand betweene his teeth,
When he might spurne him with his foote awaie?
I,I, So strives the Woodcocke with the gin.
So doth the cunnie struggle with the net.
So triumphs theeves upon their conquered
Bootie: So true men yeeld by robbers overmatcht.
What will your grace have done with him?
Brave warriors, {Clifford & Northumberland}
Come make him stand upon this molehill here,
That aimde at mountains with outstretched arme,
And parted but the shaddow with his hand.
Was it you that revelde in our Parlement,
And made a prechment of your high descent?
Where are your messe of sonnes to backe you now?
The wanton {Edward} and the lustie {George}?
And where is that valiant {Crookebacke} prodegie?
Dickey your boy, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheare his Dad in mutinies?
Or amongst the rest, where is your darling {Rutland}?
Looke {Yorke}? I dipt this napkin in his bloud,
That valiant {Clifford} with his rapiers point,
Made issue from the bosome of thy boy.
And thine eies can water for his death,
I give thee this to drie thy cheeks withall.
Alas poore {Yorke}: But I hate thee much,
I should lament thy miserable state?
I prethee grieve to make me merrie {Yorke}:
Stamp, rave and fret, that I maie sing and dance.
What? hath thy fierie hart so parcht thine entrailes,
That not a teare can fall for {Rutlands} death?
Thats my office for my fathers death.
Yet stay:& lets here the Orisons he makes.
*She wolfe of {France}, but worse than Wolves of
{France}:
Whose tongue more poison'd than the Adders tooth:
How ill beseeming in thy sexe,
To triumph like and {Amazonian} trull
Upon his woes whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is visard like, unchanging,
Made impudent by use of evill deede:
I would assaie, proud Queene to make thee blush:
To tell you of whence thou art from whom deriv'de,
Twere shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
shamelesse.
Beshrew me but his passions move me so,
As hardlie can I check mine eies from teares.
That face of his the hungrie Cannibals
*Could not have tucht, would not have staind with bloud
But you are more inhumaine, more inexorable,
O ten times more than the Tygers of {Arcadia.}
See ruthlesse {Queene} a haplesse fathers teares.
This cloth thou dipts in the bloud of my sweet boy,
And loe with teares I wash the bloud awaie.
Keepe thou the napkin and go boast of that,
And if thou tell the heavie storie well,
Upon my soule the hearers will sheed teares,
And saie alas, it was a pitteous deed.
*Here, take the crowne, and with the crowne my curse,
And in thy need such comfort come to thee,
As now ^I reape at thy two cruell hands.
Hard-harted {Clifford}, take me from the world,
My soule to heaven, my bloud upon your heads.
Had he beene slaughterman of all my kin,
I could not chuse but weepe with him to see,
How inlie anger gripes his hart.
*
*What weeeping ripe, my Lorde {Northumber-}
{land}?
Thinke upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quicklie drie your melting tears.
*
*Thears for my oath, thears for my fathers death.
And thears to right our gentle harted kind.
Open thy gates of mercie gratious God,
My soule flies forth to meet with thee.
Off with his head and set it on {Yorke} Gates,
So {Yorke} maie overlooke the towne of {Yorke}.
((Exeunt omnes.))
After this dangerous fight and haplesse warre,
How doth my noble brother {Richard} fare?
I cannot joy until I be resolv'd,
Where our right valiant father is become.
How often did I see him beare himselfe,
As doth a lion amid a heard of neat,
So fled his enemies our valiant father,
Me thinkes tis pride enough to be his sonne.
((Three sunnes appear in the aire.))
Loe how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun,
Dasell mine eies or doe I see three suns?
Three glorious suns, not seperated by a racking
Cloud, but severed in a pale cleere shining skie.
See, see, they joine, embrace, and seeme to kisse,
As if they vowde some league inviolate:
Now are they but one lampe, one light, one sun,
In this the heavens doth figure some event.
^I thinke it cites us brother to the field,
That we sonnes of brave {Plantagenet},
Alreadie each one shining by his meed,
May joine in one and overpeere the world,
As this the earth, and therefore hence forward
Ile beare upon my Target, three faire shining suns.
But what art thou? that lookest so heavilie ?
Oh one that was a wofiull looker on,
When as the noble Duke of {Yorke} was slaine.
O speake no more for I can heare no more.
Tell on thy tale, for ^I will heare it all.
When as the noble duke was put to flight,
And then pusu'de by {Clifford} and the {Queene},
And manie souldiers moe, who all at once
Let drive at him and forst the Duke to yeeld:
And then they set him on a molehill there,
And crownd the gratious Duke in high despite,
Who then with teares began to waile his fall.
The ruthlesse {Queen} perceiving he did weepe,
Gave him a handkerchief to wipe his eies,
Dipt in the bloud of sweet {Rutland}
By rough {Clifford} slaine: who weeping tooke it up
*^Then through his brest they thrust their bloudy swordes,
Who like a lambe fell at the butchers feete.
Then on the gates of {Yorke} they set his head,
And there it doth remaine the piteous spectacle
That ere mine eies beheld.
Sweet duke of {Yorke} our prop to leane upon,
Now thou art gone there is no hope for us:
Now my soules pallace is become a prison.
Oh would she breake from compasse of my breast,
For never shall I have more joie.
I cannot weepe, for all my breasts moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace burning hart:
I cannot joie till this white robe he dide,
Even in the hart bloud of the house of {Lancaster}.
{Richard}, I bare thy name, and ^Ile revenge thy death,
Or die my selfe in seeking of revenge.
*
His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee,
His chaire and Dukedome that remaines for me.
Nay, if thou be that princely Eagles bird,
Shew thy descent by gazing gainst the sunne.
How now faire Lords: what fare? what
newes abroad?
Ah {Warwike}? should we report the balefull
Newes, and at each words deliverance stab poinyardes
In our flesh till all were told, the words would adde
More anguish then the wounds,
Ah valiant Lord the Duke of {Yorke} is slaine.
Ah {Warwike Warwike}, that {Plantagenet},
*Which held thee deere: I, even as his soules redemption
Is by the sterne L. {Clifford, done to death.
*
*Ten daies ago I drownd those newes in teares.
And now to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befalne.
After the bloudie fraie at {Wakefield} fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gaspe,
Tidings as swiftlie as the post could runne,
Was brought to me of your losse and his departure.
I then in London keeper of the {King},
Mustred my souldiers,gathered flockes of friends,
And verie well appointed as I thought,
Marcht to saint {Albons} to entercept the {Queene},
Bearing the {King} in my behalfe along,
For by my scoutes I was advertised,
That she was comming, with a full intent
^To dash your late decree in parliament,
Touching king {Henries} heires and your succession.
Short tale to make we at Saint {Albons} met.
Thankes gentle {Warwike}
How far hence is the Duke with his power?
And when came {George} from {Burgundie} to {England?}
*
*Some five miles off the Duke is with his power,
But as for your brother he was latelie sent
From your kind Aunt, Duches of {Burgundie},
With aide of souldiers gainst this needfull warre.
Twas ods belike, when valiant {Warwike} fled.
Oft have if heard thy praises in pusute,
But nere till now thy scandall of retire.
*Nor now my scandall {Richard} dost thou heare,
For thou shalt know that this right hand of mine,
Can plucke the Diadem from saint {Henries} head,
And wring the awefull scepter from his fist:
Were he as famous and as bolde in warre,
As he is famde for mildnesse, peace and praier.
I know it well Lord {Warwike} blame me not,
Twas love I bare thy glories made me speake.
But in this troublous time, whats to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coates of steele,
And clad our bodies in black mourning gownes,
Numbing our {Auemaries} with our beades?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes,
Tell our devotion with revengefull armes?
^If for the last, saie,^I, and to it Lords.
*
Why therefore {Warwike} came to find you out,
And therefore comes my brother {Montague.}
Attend me Lords, the proud insulting {Queene,}
With {Clifford} and haught {Northumberland},
And of their feather manie mo proud birdes,
Have wrought the easie melting king like waxe.
He sware consent to your succession,
His oath inrolled in Parliament.
But now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate this oath or what besides
May make against the house of {Lancaster.}
Their power ^I gesse them fifty thousand strong.
Now if the help of {Norffolke} and my selfe,
Can but amount to 48.thousand,
*With all the friendes that thou brave earle of {March}
Among the loving Welshmen can procure,
I now me thinkes I heare great {Warwike} speake:
Nere maie he live to see a sunshine daie,
^That cries retire, when {Warwike} bids him stay.
Lord {Warwike}, on thy shoulder will I leane,
And when thou faints, must {Edward} fall:
Which perill heaven doth forfend.
No longer Earle of {March}, but Duke of {Yorke},
The next degree, is Englands royall king:
And king of England shalt thou be proclaimde,
In every burrough as we passe along:
And he that casts not up his cap for joie.
Shall for the offence make forfeit of his head.
King {Edward}, valiant {Richard},{Montague},
Stay we no longer dreaming of renowne,
But forward to effect these resolutions.
((Enter a Messenger.))
The Duke of {Norffolke} sends you word from me,
The {Queene} is comming with a puissant power,
*
*Why then it forts brave {Lordes}. Lets march a-
way. .(({Exeunt Omnes.}))
((Enter the {King} and {Queene}, Prince {Edward} and
the Northerne Earles, with drum
and Souldiers.))
*
*Welcome my Lord to this brave town of {Yorke},
yonders the head of that ambitious enemie,
That fought to be impaled with your crowne.
*Even as the rockes please them that feare their
wracke.
Withhold revenge deare God, tis not my fault,
Not wittinglie have I infringed my vow.
My gratious Lord, this is too much lenitie,
And harmefull pittie must be laid aside,
To whom do Lyons cast their gentle lookes?
Not to that beast that would usurpe his dan.
Whose hand is that the savage Beare doth licke?
Not his that spoiles his young before his face.
who scapes the lurking serpentes mortall sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her backe.
The smallest worme will turne being trodden on,
And Doves will pecke, in rescue of their broode.
Ambitious {Yorke} did levell at thy Crowne,
Thou smiling while he knit his angrie browes.
He but a Duke, would have his sonne a king.
And raise his issue like a loving fire.
Thou being a king blest with a goodlie sonne,
Didst give consent to disinherit him,
Which argude thee a most unnaturall father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their yong.
And though mans face be fearfull to their eies,
Yet in protection of their tender ones,
Who had not seene them even with those same wings
Which they have sometimes used in fearfull flight,
Make warre with him, that climes into their nest,
Offring their own lives in their yongs defence?
For shame my Lord, make them your president,
Were it not pittie that this goodlie boy,
Full we hath Clifford plaid the Orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force,
But tell me, didst thou never yet heare tell,
That things evill got had ever bad successe,
And happie ever was it for that sonne,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell,
I leave my sonne my vertuous deedes behind,
And would my father had left me no more,
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As askes a thousand times more care to keepe,
Then maie the present profit countervaile.
Ah cosen {York},would thy best friendes did know
How it doth greeve me that thy head stands there.
My Lord,this harmefull pittie makes your followers faint.
You promisde knighthood to your princelie sonne.
Unsheath your sword and straight doe dub him knight.
Kneele downe {Edward}.
{Edward Plantagenet},arise a knight,
And learne this lesson boy,draw thy sword in right.
My gratious father by your kingly leave,
Ile draw it as apparent to the crowne,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
And reason {George}.Who should succeede the father but the son
Are you their butcher.
{I Crookbacke},here I stand to answere thee,or any of your sort.
Twas you that kild young {Rutland},was it not?
Yes and old Yorke too,and yet not satisfide.
For gods sake Lords give synald to the fight.
What saiest thou {Henry}? Wilt thou yeelde thy crowne.
What,long tongde,{War} dare you speake?
When you and I met at saint {Albones} last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
I,then twas my turne to flee,but now tis thine.
You said so much before,and yet you fled.
Twas not your valour Clifford,that done mee thence.
No nor your manhood {Warwick},that could make you staie.
.
Why I kild thy father,calst thou him a child.
.
I like a villaine,and a trecherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother {Rutland}.
But ere sunne set Ile make thee curse the deed.
.
Have doone with wordes great lordes,and
Heare me speake.
.
Defie them then,or else hold thy lips.
.
But when we saw our summer brought the
gaine,
And that the harvest brought us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root,
And though the edge have something hit our selves,
Yet know thou we will never cease to strike,
Til we have hewne thee downe,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated blouds,
.
And in this resolution, I defie thee,
Not willing anie longer conference,
Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.
Sound trumpets, let our bloudie colours wave,
And either victorie or else a grave.
.
Staie {Edward} staie.
>
Hence wrangling woman, Ile no longer staie,
Thy words will cost ten thousand lives to daie.
((Exennt Omnes)) ((Alarmes.))
((Enter Warwike.))
.
Sore spent with toile as runners with the race,
{I} laie me downe a little to breath,
For strokes receivde, and manie blowes repaid
.
Then let us haste to cheer the souldiers harts,
and call them pillers that will stand to us,
And hiely promise to remunerate
Their trustie service, in these dangerous warres.
.
Come, come awaie, and stand not to debate,
for yet is hope of fortune good enough.
Brothers, give me your hands, and let us part
And take our leaves untill we meet againe,
Where ere it be in heaven or in earth.
Now I that never wept, now melt in wo,
To see these dire mishaps continue so.
.
farewell
.
Awaie awaie, once more sweet lords farewell.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
((Alarmes, and then enter Richard at one dore
and Clifford at the other.))
.
A{Clifford}a{Clifford}.
.
A{Richard}a{Richard}.
.
Now {Clifford}, for York & young {Rutlands} death,
This thirsty sword that longs to drink thy bloud,
Shall lop thy limmes, and slise thy cursed hart,
For revenge the murders thou has made.
.
Now {Richard},I am with thee here alone,
This is the hand that stabd thy father {Yorke},
And this the hand that slew thy brother {Rutland},
And heres the heart that triumphs in their deathes,
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother,
.
Lie there thou that foughst with me so stoutly,
Now let me see what store of gold thou haste,
But staie, me thinkes this is no famous face;
Oh no it is my sonne that I have slaine in fight,
O monstrous times begetting such events
How cruel bloudy, and ironious,
This deadlie quarrell dailie doth beget,
Poore boy thy father gave thee lif too late,
And hath bereav'de thee of thy life too sone.
Wo above wo,griefe more then common griefe,
Whilst Lyons warre and battaile for their dens,
Poore lambs do feele the rigor of their wraths:
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatall colours of our striving houses,
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish,
For if you strive ten thousand lives must perish.
.
How will my mother for my fathers death,
Take on with me and nere be satisfide?
/.
How will my wife for slaughter of my son,
Take on with me and nere be satisfide
.
How will the people now misdeeme their king,
.
Was ever a son so ude his father blood to spil?
.
Was ever father so unnaturall his son to kill?
Oh would my death their mindes could satisfie.
.
Was ever king thus greevd and vexed still?
.
Ile beare thee hence from this accursed place,
For wo is me to see my fathers face.
((Exit with his father.))
.
Ile beare thee hence & let them fight that will,
For I have murdered where I should not kill.
((Exit with his sonne.))
.
Thus farre our fortunes keepes an upward
Course, and we a grast with wreathes of victorie.
Some troopes persue the bloudie minded Queene,
That now towards {Barwike} doth poste amanie,
But thinke you that {Clfford} is fled awaie with them?
.
No, tis impossible he should escape,
For though before his face I speak the words
Your brother Richard markt for the grave.
And where so ere he be I warrant him dead.
((Clifford grones and then dies.))
.
Harke, what soule is this that takes his heavy leave.
.
A deadlie grone, like life and deaths departure.
.
See who it is, and now the battailes ended,
Friend or foe, let him be friendlie used.
.
Reverse that doome of mercie, for tis {Clifford}.
.
I, but he is dead, off with the traitors head,
And reare it in the place your father stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned {Englands} lawfull king.
From thence shall {Warwike} crosse the seas to {France},
And aske the ladie {Bona} for thy {Queene},
So shalt thou sinew both these lands togither,
And having {France} thy friend thou needst not dread,
The scattered foe that hopes to rise againe,
and though they cannot gratly sting to hurt,
Yet looke to have them busie to offend thine eares.
First Ile see the coronation done,
and afterwrad Ile crosse the seas to {France}
To effect this marriage if it please my Lord.
.
Even as thou wilt good {Warwike} let it be.
But first before we goe,{George} kneele downe.
We here create thee Duke of {Clarence}, and girt thee with
the sword,
Our younger brother {Richard} Duke of {Glocester}.
.
As my selfe shal do & undo him pleaseth best.
.
Let me be Duke of {Clarence},{George} of {Gloster},
For {Glosters} Dukedome is too ominous.
.
Tush thats a childish observation,
.
be Duke of {Gloster}.Now to London.
.
I but thou talkest as if thou wert a king thy selfe.
.
Why so I am in mind though not in shew.
.
And if thou be a king where is thy crowne.
.
My crowne is in my hart, not on my head,
My crowne is calde content, a crowne that.
Kings doe seldome times enjoy.
.
And if thou be a king crownd with content,
Your crowne content and you, must be content
To go with us unto the officer, for as we thinke
You are the quandam king,K.{Edward} hath deposde,
And therefore we charge you in Gods name & the kings
To go along with us unto the officers.
.
Gods name be fulfild,your kings name be
Obalde, and be you kings, command and Ile obay.
((Exit Omnes.))
((Enter Edward, clarence,and Gloster, Montague,
Hastings, and the lady Gray.))
.
Brothers of Clarence, and of Gloster,
This ladies husband heere sir Richard Gray,
At the battaile of saint {Albones} did lose his life,
His lands then were freazed by the conqueror.
Her sute is now to repossesse those lands,
And sith in quarrell of the house of {Yorke},
The noble gentleman did lose his life,
In honor we cannot denie her sute.
.
Your highnesse shall doe well to grant it then.
.
I,so I will, but yet Ile make a pause.
.
I,is the wind in that doore?
.
I,see the lady hath something to grant,
Before the king will grant her humble sute
He knows the game, how well he keepes the wind.
.
Why then thy husbandes landes I freelie give
thee.
.
I take my leave with manie thousand thankes.
.
The match is made, thee seales it with a cursie.
.
Staie widdow staie, what love dost thou thinke
I sue so much to get?
.
My humble service, such as subjects owes and
the lawes commands.
.
No by my troth, I meant no such love,
But to tell thee the troth, I aime to lie with thee.
.
To tell you plaine my lord, I had rather lie
in prison.
.
Why then thou canst not get thy husbandes
lands
.
Then my honestie shall be my dower,
For by that losse I will not purchase them.
.
Herein thou wrongst thy children mightillie.
.
Heerein your highnesse wrongs both them and
Me, but mightie Lord this merrie inclination
Agrees not with the sadnesse of my sute.
Please it your highnes to dismisse me with I or no.
.
I, if thou saie I to my request,
No, if thou saie no to my demand.
.
Then no my Lord, my sute is at an end
.
The widdow likes him not, shee bends the brow.
.
Why he is the bluntest woer in christendome.
.
Her lookes are all repleat with majestie,
One waie or other she is for a king,
And she shall be my love or else my {Queene},
Saie that king {Edward} tooke thee for his {Queene}.
.
Tis better said then done, my gratious Lord,
.
Awaie with him and send him to the tower,
And let us go question with the man about,
His apprehension. Lords along, and use this
Ladie honorablie.
((Exemnt Omnes.))
((Manet Gloster and speakes.))
.
I, {Edward} will use woman honorablie,
Would he were wasted marrow, bones and all,
That from his loines no issue might suceeed
To hinder me from the golden time I looke for,
For I am not yet lookt on in the world.
First is there {Edward, Clarence}, and {Henry}
And his sonne, and all they lookt for issue
Of their loines ere I can plant my selfe,
A cold premeditation for my purpose,
What other pleasure is there in the world beside,
I will go clad my bodie in gaie ornaments,
and lull myselfe within a ladies lap,
And witch sweet Ladies with my wordes and lookes.
Oh monstrous man, to harbour in my mothers wombe.
And for I should not deale in hir affaires,
Shee did corrupt fraile nature in the flesh,
And plaste an envious mountaine on my backe,
Where sits deformity to mocke my bodie,
To drie mine arme up like a withered shrimpe.
To make my legges of unequall size,
And am I a man to be belov'd?
Earlier for me to compasse twenty crownes.
Tut I can smile, and murder when I smile,
I crie content, to that that greeves me most.
.
And if this go forward all our hope is done.
.
And gratious Madam, in our kings behalfe,
I am commanded with your love and favour,
Humblie to kisse your hand and with my tongue,
To tell the passions of my soveraines hart,
where same late entring at his heedfull eares,
Hath plast thy glorious image and thy virtues.
.
King {Lewes} and lady {Bona} heare me speake,
Before you answere {Warwike} or his words,
For he has done us all these wrongs.
.
Injurious {Margaret}.
.
And why not {Queene}?
.
Because thy father {Henry} usurpe,
And thou no more art Prince then she is {Queene}.
.
Then {Warwike} disanuls great {John of Gaunt},
That did subdue the greatest part of {Spaine},
And after {John of Gaunt} wise {Henry} the fourth,
Whose wisdome wasd a mirrour to the world,
And after this wise prince {Henry} the fift,
who with his prowesse conquered all {France},
From these our {Henries} lineallie discent.
.
{Oxford, how haps that in this smooth discourse
You told not how {Henry} the fift had lost
All that {Henry} the fift had gotten
Me thinkes these peeres of {France} should smile at that
But for the rest you tell a pettigree
Of threeseore and two years a sillie time,
To make prescription for a kingdomes worth.
.
Why {Warwike}, canst thou denie thy king
Whom thou obey dst thirtie and eight yeeres,
.
Your grant or your denia! shall be mine,
But ere this daie I must confesse, when I
Have heard your kings deserts recounted,
Mine eares have tempted judgement to desire,
.
Then draw neere Queene {Margaret} and be a
Witnesse, that {Bona} shall be wife to the English king.
.
To {Edward}, but not the English king.
.
{Henry} now lives in {Scotland} at his ease,
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose,
And as for yourselfe our {quondam} Queene,
You have a father able to mainetaine your state,
And better twere to trouble him then {France}
((Sound for a post within.))
.
Here comes some post {Warwike} to thee or us.
.
My Lord ambassador this letter for you,
Sent from your brother Marquis {Montague},
This from our king unto your majestie,
And these to you Madam, from whom I know not.
.
I like it well that our faire Queene and mistresse,
Smiles at her news when {Warwike} frets as his.
.
And marke how {Lewes} hamps as he were nettled.
.
Now {Margaret & Warwike}, what are your news?
.
Mine such as fils my hart full of joie.
.
Mine full of sorrow and harts discontent.
.
What hath your king married the Ladie {Gray},
And now to exclude himselfe sends us a post of papers,
How dares he presume to use us thus?
.
This proveth {Edwards} love, & {Warwikes} honesty.
.
King {Lewes}, I here protest in fight of heaven,
And by the hope I have of heavenlie blisse,
That I am cleare from this misdeed of {Edwards},
.
But now tell me {Warwike}, what assurance
I shall have of thy true loyaltie?
.
This shall assure my constant loyaltie,
If that our Queene and this young prince agree,
Ile joine mine eldest daughter and my joie
To him forthwith in holie wedlockes bandes.
.
With all my hart, that match I like full wel,
Love her sonne {Edward}, shee is faite and yong,
And give thy hand to {Warwike} for thy love.
.
It is enough, and now we will prepare,
To lovie souldiers for to go with you.
And you Lord {Bourbon} our high admirall,
Shall wast them saflie to the English coast,
And chase proud {Edward} from his slumbering trance,
For mocking marriage with the name of {France}.
.
I came from {Edward} as Imbassadour
But I return this sworne and mortall foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadfull warre shall answere his demand.
Has he none else to make stale but me?
Then none but I shall turne his jest to sorrow.
I was the chiefe that raisde him to the crowne,
And I be chiefe to bring him downe againe,
Not that I pittie {Henries} miserie,
But seeke revenge on {Edwards} mockerie. ((Exit.))
((Enter king Edward, the Queene amd Clarence, and
Gloster, and Montague and Hastings, and
Pentbrooke, with souldiers.))
.
Brothers of {Clarence}, and of {Glocester},
What thinke you of our marriage with the ladie {Gray}?
.
And what then?It was our will it should be so.
.
I, and for such a thing too the Lord {Scales}
Did well deserve at your hands, to have the
Daughter of the Lord {Bonfield}, and let your
Brothers to go seeke elsewhere, but in
Your madnes, you burie brotherhood.
.
Allasse poore {Clarence}, is it for a wife,
That thou art mal-content,
Why man be of good cheere, I will provide thee one.
.
Naie you plaide the broker so ill for yourselfe,
That you shall give me leave to make my
Choise as I thinke good, and to that intent,
I shortlie meane to leave you.
.
Leave me or tarrie I am full resolv'd,
{Edward} will not be tied to his brothers wils.
.
Forbeare my love to sawne upon their frownes,
For thee they must obay, naie shall obaie,
And if they looke for favour at my hands.
.
My Lord, heere is the messenger returnd from {France}.
((Enter messenger.))
.
Now suta, what letters or what newes?
.
No letters my Lord, and such newes as without
your highnesse speciall pardon I dare not relate
.
We pardon thee, and as neere as thou canst
Tell me, what said {Lewes} to our letters?
.
At my departure these were his verie words.
.
{Penbrooke}, go raise an armie presentlie
Pitch up my tent, for in the field this night
I meane to rest, and on the morrow morne,
Ile march to meet proud {Warwike} ere he land
Those stragling troopes which he hath got in France.
But ere I goe {Montague} and {Hastings},
You of all the rest are neerest allied
In bloud to {Warwike}, therefore tell me, if
You favour him more then me or not.
Speake truelie, for I had rather have you open
Enemies, then hollow friends.
.
So god helpe {Montague} as he proves true.
.
And {Hastings} as hee favours {Edwards} cause.
.
It shall suffice, come then march awaie.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
((Enter Warwike and Oxford, with souldiers.))
.
Trust me my Lords all hither to goes well,
The common people by numbers swarme to us,
But see where {Sommerset} and {Clarence} comes,
.
Feate not that my Lord.
.
Then gentle {Clarence} welcome unto {Warwike}.
And welcome {Sommerset}, I hold it cowardise,
To rest mistrustfull where a noble hart,
Hath pawnde an open hand in signe of love,
Else might I thinke that {Clarence,Edwards} brother,
Were but a sained friend to our proceedings,
But welcome sweet {Clarence} my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests but in nights coveture,
Thy brother bieng carelsse encampt,
.
What followes now, all hither too goes well,
But we must despacth some letters to {France},
To tell the {Queene} of our happy fortune,
And bid hir to come with speed to joine with us.
.
I thats the first thing we have to doe,
And free king {Henry} from imprisonment,
And see him seated in his regall throne,
Come let us haste awaie, and having past these cares,
Ile post to {Yorke}, and see how {Edward} fares.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
((Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Sir William Stanly.))
.
Lord {Hastings}, and sir {William Stanly},
Know that the cause I sent you is this.
I looke my brother with a slender traine,
Should come a hunting in this forrest heere.
The Bishop of {Yorke} befriends him much,
Now I have privilie sent him word,
How I am come with you to rescue him,
And see where the huntsman and he doth come.
((Enter Edward and a huntsman.))
.
This waie my Lord the deere is gorie.
.
No this waie huntsman, see where the
Keepers stand.Now brother and the rest,
What, are you provided to depart.
.
I, I, the horse stands at the parke corner,
Come, to Linne, and so take shipping into {Flanders}.
.
Come then {Hastings}, and {Stanlie}, I will
.
Seed true heire to {Englands} crowne
((Exit))
((Enter Edward and Richard, and Hastings with a
troope of Hollanders.))
.
Thus far from {Belgia} have we past the seas,
And marcht from {Ramspur} haven unto {Yorke}:
But soft the gates are shut, I like not this.
.
Sound up the drum and call them to the walls.
((Enter the Lord Maire of {Yorke} upon the walls.))
.
My Lords we had notice of your comming.
And thats the cause we stand upon our garde,
And shut the gates to preserve the towne.
{Henry} is king, and we are sworne to him.
.
Why my Lord Maire, if {Henry} be your king,
{Edward} I am sure at least, is Duke of {Yorke}.
.
Truth my Lord, we know you for no lesse.
.
I crave nothing but my Dukedome.
.
But when the fox hath gotten in his head,
Heele quicklie make the bodie follow after.
.
Why my Lord Maire, what stand you upon points,
Open the gates, we are king {Henries} friends.
.
Saie you so, then Ile open them presentlie.
((Exit Maire.))
.
By my faith, a wise stout captain & soone perswaded.
(( The Maire opens the dore, and brings the
keis in his hand. ))
.
So my Lord Maire, these gates must not be shut,
But in the time of warre, give me the keis:
What, feare not man for {Edward} will defend
The towne and you, despite of all your foes.
(( Enter sir John Montgommery with
drumme and souldiers. ))
.
Thus from the prison to this princelie seat,
By god great mercies am I brought
Againe, { Clarence } and { Warwike } doe you
Keepe the crowne, and governe and protect
My realme in peace, and I will spend the
Remnant of my daies, to sinnes rebuke
And my Creators praise.
.
What answers { Clarence } to his soveraignes will?
.
{Clarence} agrees to what king {Henry} likes.
.
My lord of {Summerset}, what prettie
Boie is that you seeme to be so carefull of?
.
And it please your grace, it is young {Henry},
Earle of {Richmond}.
.
{Henry} of {Richmond}, come hither prettie ladde.
If heavenlie powers doe aime aright
To my divining thoughts, thou prettie boy,
Shalt prove this countries blisse,
Thy head is made to weare a princelie crowne,
Thy lookes are all repleat with Majestie,
Make much of him my Lords,
.
Where is the post that came from valiant {Oxford}?
How farre hence is thy lord my honest fellow?
.
By this at {Daintrie} marching hitherward.
.
Where is our brother {Montague}?
Where is the post that came from {Montague}?
.
I left him at {Donsmore} with his troopes.
.
Say {Summerfield} where is my loving son?
And by the gesse, how farre is {Clarence} hence?
.
At {Southham} my lord I left him with
His force, and doe expect him two houres hence
.
Then Oxford is at hand, I heare his drum.
((Enter Edward and his power.))
.
See brother, where the surly {Warwike} mans the wal.
.
O unbid spight, is sportfull {Edward} come!
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduste
That we could have no newes of their repaire
.
Now {Warwike} wilt thou be sorrie for thy faults
And call {Edward} king and he will pardon thee.
.
Naie rather wilt thou draw thy forces backe?
Confesse who set thee up and puld thee downe
Call {Warwike} patron and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remaine the Duke of {Yorke}.
.
I had thought at least he would have said the king.
Or did he make the jest against his will.
.
Twas {Warwike} gave the kingsdome to thy brother.
.
Why then tis mine,if but by {Warwikes} gift.
.
Er tu Bruce, wilt thou stab {Cesar} too?
A parlie sirr to {George} of Clarence.
((Sound a parlie, and Richard and Clarence whispers to-
gither, and then Clarence takes his red Rose out of his
hat, and throwes it at Warwike.))
.
Com Clarence come, thou wilt if {Warwike} call.
.
Father of {Warwike}, know you what this meanes?
I throw mine infamie at thee,
I will not ruinate my fathers house
Who gave his bloud to lime the stones togither,
And set up {Lancaster}. Thinkest thou
That {Clarence} is so harsh unnaturall,
To lift his sword against his brothers life,
And so proud harted {warwike} I defie thee,
And to my brothers turne my blushing cheekes,
Pardon me {Edward}, for I have done amisse,
And {Richard} doe not frowne upon me,
For henceforth I will prove no more unconstant.
.
Welcome good {Clarence}, this is brotherlie.
.
Oh passing traytor, periurd and unjust.
.
Now {Warwike}, wilt thou leave
The towne and fight? or shall we beate the
Stones about thine eares.
.
Why I am not coopt uppe heere for defence.
I will awaie to Barnet presently,
And bid thee battaile Edward if thou darest.
.
Yes {Warwike} he dares, and leads the waie,
Lords to the feild, saint {George} and victorie.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
.
What is pompe, rule, rainge, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must.
Sweet rest his soule, flie Lords and save your selves,
For {Warwike} bids you all farewell to meet in heaven.
((He dies.))
.
Come noble {Summerset}, lets take our horse,
And cause retrait be founded through the campe,
That all our friends that yet remaine alive,
Maie be awarn'd and save themselves by flight.
That done, with them weele post unto the Queene,
And once more trie our fortune in the field.
((Ex ambo.))
((Enter Edward, Clarence, Gloster, with souldiers.))
.
This still our fortune gives us victorie,
And gifts our temples with triumphant joies.
The bigboond traytor {Warwike} hath breathde his last,
And heaven this daie hath smilde upon us all,
But in this cleere and brightsome daie,
I see a blacke suspitious cloud appeare
That will encounter with our glorious sunne
Before he gaine his easefull westeme beames,
I mean those powers which the Queene hath got in Frace
Are landed, and meane once more to menace us.
.
{Oxford} and {Summerset} are fled to hir,
And tis likelie she have time to breath.
Her faction will be as strong as ours.
.
We are advertisde by our loving friends,
.
And he that turnes and flies when such do fight,
Let him to bed, and like the Owle by daie
Be hist, and wondered at if he arise.
((Enter a Messenger.))
.
My Lords, Duke {Edward} with a mighty power,
Is marching hitherwards to fight with you.
.
I thought it was his pollicie, to take us unprovided,
But here will we stand and fight it to the death.
((Enter king Edward, Cla. Glo. Hast. and souldiers.))
.
See brothers, yonder stands the thornie wood,
Which by Gods assistance and your prowesse,
Shall with our swords yet night be cleane cut downe.
.
Lords, Knights & gentlemen, what I should say,
My teares gainesaie, for as you see, I drinke
The water of mine eies. Then no more
But in the tower, his land and all our friends
Are quite distrest, and yonder standes
The Wolfe that makes all this,
Then on Gods name Lords togither cry saint {George}.
All saint {George} for {Lancaster}.
((Alarmes to the battel, Yorke flies, then the chambers be
discharged. Then enter the king, Cla & Glo. & the rest,
& make a great shout, and crie, for Yorke, for Yorke, and
then the Queene is taken, and the prince, & Oxf. & Sum,
and then sound and enter all againe.))
.
Take that, the litnes of this railer heere.
.
Oh kill me too.
.
Marrie and shall.
.
Hold {Richard} hold, for we have doone too much alreadie.
.
Why should she live to fill the world with words?
.
What doth she swound, make meanes for
Her recoverie?
.
{Clarence}, excuse me to the king my brother,
I must to London on a serious matter,
Ere you to come there, you shall heare more newes.
.
About what, prethe tell me?
.
The Tower man, the Tower, Ile root them out
((Exit Gloster.))
.
Ah {Ned}, speake to thy mother boy? ah
Thou canst speake.
Traytors, Tyrants, bloudie Homicides,
They that stabd {Cesar} shed no bloud at all,
For he was a man, this respect a childe,
And men nere spend their furie on a chlid,
Whats worse then tyrant that I maie name,
You have no children Devils, if you had,
The thought of them would then have stopt your rage,
But if you ever hope to have a sonne,
Looke in his youth to have him so cut off,
as traitors you have doone this sweet young prince.
.
Awaie, and beare her hence.
.
Naie nere beare me hence dispatch
Me heere, heere sheath thy sword,
Ile pardon thee my death. Wilt thou not?
Then {Clarence}, doe thou doe it.
.
By heaven I would not doe thee so much ease.
.
I Dedalus, my poore sonne Icarus,
Thy father {Minos} that denide our course,
Thy brother {Edward}, the sunne that searde his wings,
And thou the envious gulfe that swallowed him.
Oh better can my brest abide thy daggers point,
Then can mine eares that tragike historie.
.
Why dost thou thinke I am an executioner?
.
A persecutor I am sure thou art,
And if murdering innocents be executions,
Then I know thou art an executioner.
.
Thy sonne I kild for his presumption.
.
Hadst thou bin kild when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not lived to kill a sonne of mine,
And thus I prophesie of thee.
That manie a widdow for her husbands death,
And manie an infants water standing eie,
widdowes for their husbands, children for their fathers,
Shall curse the time that ever thou wert borne.
The owle shirkt at thy birth, an evill signe,
The night Crow cride, aboding lucklesse tune,
Dogs howld and hideous tempests shooke down trees,
The raven rookt her on the chimnies top,
and chattering Pies in dismall discord sung,
Thy mother felt more then a mothers paine,
And yet brought forth lesse then a mothers hope.
To wit an undigest created lumpe,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree,
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast borne,
.
Bewarwe, thou keptst me from the light,
But I will sort a pitchie daie for thee.
For I will buz abroad such prophesies,
As {Edward} shall be fearefull of his life,
And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death.
{Henry} and his sonne are gone, thou {Clarence} next,
And by one and one I shall dispatch the rest,
Counting my selfe but bad, till I be best.
Ile drag thy bodie in another roome,
and triumph {Henry} in thy daie of doome.
((Exit.))
((Enter king Edward, Queene Elizabeth, and a Nurse
with the young prince, and Clarence,
and Hastings, and others.))
.
Once more we sit in Englands royall throne,
Repurchasde with the bloud of enimies,
What valiant foemen like to {Autumnes} corne,
Have we mow'd downe in tops of all their pride.
Three Dukes of {Summerset}, three fold renowmd
For hardie and undoubted champions.
Two {Cliffords}, as the father and the sonne,
And two {Northumberlands}, two braver men
Nere spurd their courses at the trumpets sound.
With them the two rough Beares, {Warwike} and
{Montague},
That in their chaines fettered the kinglie Lion,
And made the forrest tremble when they roard,
.
Awaie with her, and wafte hir hence to {France},
And now what rests but that we spend the time,
With stately Triumphs and mirthfull comicke shewes,
Such as befits the pleasures of the Court.
Sound drums and Trumpets, farewell to sower annoy,
For heere I hope begins our lasting joie.
((Exeunt Omnes.))
(( C FINIS.))