Act IV, Scene VII — Another part of the field
Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Talbot led by a Servant.
TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone. O, where’s young Talbot? Where is valiant John? Triumphant Death, smear’d with captivity, Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee. When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And like a hungry lion did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none, Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustering battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His over-mounting spirit; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
Enter soldiers, with the body of young Talbot.
TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh’st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, In thy despite shall scape mortality. O thou whose wounds become hard-favour’d Death, Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. Poor boy, he smiles, methinks, as who should say, Had Death been French, then Death had died today. Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave.
[Dies.]
Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle and forces.
CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this.
BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging-wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!
PUCELLE. Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said: “Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid.” But with a proud majestical high scorn He answer’d thus: “Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench.” So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder.
CHARLES. O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
Enter Sir William Lucy and a French Herald.
LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent, To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day.
CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?
LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! ’Tis a mere French word. We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’en, And to survey the bodies of the dead.
CHARLES. For prisoners ask’st thou? Hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seek’st.
LUCY. But where’s the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, Created for his rare success in arms Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the noble Order of Saint George, Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth Of all his wars within the realm of France?
PUCELLE. Here’s a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this. Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
LUCY. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman’s only scourge, Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis? O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! O, that I could but call these dead to life! It were enough to fright the realm of France. Were but his picture left amongst you here, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence And give them burial as beseems their worth.
PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God’s sake, let him have them; to keep them here, They would but stink and putrify the air.
CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.
LUCY. I’ll bear them hence; But from their ashes shall be rear’d A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou wilt. And now to Paris in this conquering vein. All will be ours, now bloody Talbot’s slain.
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene I — London. The Palace
Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester and Exeter.
KING HENRY. Have you perused the letters from the Pope, The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?
GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this: They humbly sue unto your Excellence To have a godly peace concluded of Between the realms of England and of France.
KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?
GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood And stablish quietness on every side.
KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle, for I always thought It was both impious and unnatural That such immanity and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith.
GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect And surer bind this knot of amity, The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, A man of great authority in France, Proffers his only daughter to your Grace In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young! And fitter is my study and my books Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Yet call th’ ambassadors; and, as you please, So let them have their answers every one. I shall be well content with any choice Tends to God’s glory and my country’s weal.
Enter Winchester in Cardinal’s habit, a Legate and two Ambassadors.
EXETER. What, is my Lord of Winchester install’d And call’d unto a cardinal’s degree? Then I perceive that will be verified Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy: “If once he come to be a cardinal, He’ll make his cap co-equal with the crown.”
KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits Have been consider’d and debated on. Your purpose is both good and reasonable; And therefore are we certainly resolved To draw conditions of a friendly peace, Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean Shall be transported presently to France.
GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master, I have inform’d his Highness so at large, As liking of the lady’s virtuous gifts, Her beauty and the value of her dower, He doth intend she shall be England’s Queen.
KING HENRY. In argument and proof of which contract, Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp’d, Commit them to the fortune of the sea.
[Exeunt all but Winchester and Legate.]
WINCHESTER. Stay my lord legate; you shall first receive The sum of money which I promised Should be deliver’d to his Holiness For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship’s leisure.
WINCHESTER. [Aside.] Now Winchester will not submit, I trow, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive That neither in birth or for authority, The Bishop will be overborne by thee. I’ll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny.
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene II — France. Plains in Anjou
Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, Bastard, Reignier, La Pucelle and forces.
CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits: ’Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt And turn again unto the warlike French.
ALENÇON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; Else ruin combat with their palaces!
Enter Scout.
SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices!
CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.
SCOUT. The English army, that divided was Into two parties, is now conjoin’d in one, And means to give you battle presently.
CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; But we will presently provide for them.
BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there. Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.
PUCELLE. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed. Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; Let Henry fret and all the world repine.
CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene III — Before Angiers
Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucelle.
PUCELLE. The Regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; And ye choice spirits that admonish me, And give me signs of future accidents. [Thunder] You speedy helpers, that are substitutes Under the lordly monarch of the north, Appear and aid me in this enterprise.
Enter Fiends.
This speed and quick appearance argues proof Of your accustom’d diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull’d Out of the powerful regions under earth, Help me this once, that France may get the field.
[They walk and speak not.]
O, hold me not with silence over-long! Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, I’ll lop a member off and give it you In earnest of a further benefit, So you do condescend to help me now.
[They hang their heads.]
No hope to have redress? My body shall Pay recompense if you will grant my suit.
[They shake their heads.]
Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Then take my soul; my body, soul and all, Before that England give the French the foil.
[They depart.]
See, they forsake me. Now the time is come That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest And let her head fall into England’s lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with. Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.
[Exit.]
Excursions. Burgundy and York fight hand to hand. The French fly. La Pucelle is taken.
YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast. Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty. A goodly prize, fit for the devil’s grace! See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if with Circe she would change my shape!
PUCELLE. Chang’d to a worser shape thou canst not be.
YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee! And may ye both be suddenly surprised By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!
YORK. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!
PUCELLE. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.
YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou com’st to the stake.
[Exeunt.]
Alarum. Enter Suffolk with Margaret in his hand.
SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
[Gazes on her.]
O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly! For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, I kiss these fingers for eternal peace, And lay them gently on thy tender side. Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.
MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, The King of Naples, whosoe’er thou art.
SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call’d. Be not offended, nature’s miracle, Thou art allotted to be ta’en by me. So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. Yet, if this servile usage once offend, Go and be free again as Suffolk’s friend.
[She is going.]
O, stay! I have no power to let her pass; My hand would free her, but my heart says no. As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, Twinkling another counterfeited beam, So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak. I’ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind. Fie, de la Pole, disable not thyself; Hast not a tongue? Is she not here? Wilt thou be daunted at a woman’s sight? Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, What ransom must I pay before I pass? For I perceive I am thy prisoner.
SUFFOLK. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, Before thou make a trial of her love?
MARGARET. Why speak’st thou not? What ransom must I pay?
SUFFOLK. She’s beautiful, and therefore to be woo’d; She is a woman, therefore to be won.
MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no?
SUFFOLK. Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife; Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?
MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.
SUFFOLK. There all is marr’d; there lies a cooling card.
MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.
SUFFOLK. And yet a dispensation may be had.
MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.
SUFFOLK. I’ll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? Why, for my king. Tush, that’s a wooden thing!
MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.
SUFFOLK. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, And peace established between these realms. But there remains a scruple in that too; For though her father be the King of Naples, Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, And our nobility will scorn the match.
MARGARET. Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?
SUFFOLK. It shall be so, disdain they ne’er so much. Henry is youthful and will quickly yield. Madam, I have a secret to reveal.
MARGARET. What though I be enthrall’d? He seems a knight, And will not any way dishonour me.
SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
MARGARET. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French; And then I need not crave his courtesy.
SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause.
MARGARET. Tush, women have been captivate ere now.
SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?
MARGARET. I cry you mercy, ’tis but quid for quo.
SUFFOLK. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?
MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile Than is a slave in base servility; For princes should be free.
SUFFOLK. And so shall you, If happy England’s royal king be free.
MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?
SUFFOLK. I’ll undertake to make thee Henry’s queen, To put a golden scepter in thy hand And set a precious crown upon thy head, If thou wilt condescend to be my—
MARGARET. What?
SUFFOLK. His love.
MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry’s wife.
SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam, I unworthy am To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, And have no portion in the choice myself. How say you, madam, are ye so content?
MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.
SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth. And, madam, at your father’s castle walls We’ll crave a parley, to confer with him.
A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the walls.
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!
REIGNIER. To whom?
SUFFOLK. To me.
REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy? I am a soldier, and unapt to weep Or to exclaim on fortune’s fickleness.
SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: Consent, and for thy honour give consent, Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, Whom I with pain have woo’d and won thereto; And this her easy-held imprisonment Hath gain’d thy daughter princely liberty.
REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?
SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.
REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend To give thee answer of thy just demand.
[Exit from the walls.]
SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.
Trumpets sound. Enter Reignier, below.
REIGNIER. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories. Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.
SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king. What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?
REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth To be the princely bride of such a lord, Upon condition I may quietly Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou, Free from oppression or the stroke of war, My daughter shall be Henry’s, if he please.
SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her; And those two counties I will undertake Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.
REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry’s royal name, As deputy unto that gracious king, Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.
SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Because this is in traffic of a king. [Aside.] And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case. I’ll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemnized. So, farewell, Reignier; set this diamond safe In golden palaces, as it becomes.
REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.
MARGARET. Farewell, my lord; good wishes, praise, and prayers Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going].
SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam; but hark you, Margaret, No princely commendations to my king?
MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid, A virgin and his servant, say to him.
SUFFOLK. Words sweetly placed and modestly directed. But, madam, I must trouble you again: No loving token to his Majesty?
MARGARET. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, Never yet taint with love, I send the King.
SUFFOLK. And this withal. [Kisses her.]
MARGARET. That for thyself. I will not so presume To send such peevish tokens to a king.
[Exeunt Reignier and Margaret.]
SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay; Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth. There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise. Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, And natural graces that extinguish art; Repeat their semblance often on the seas, That, when thou com’st to kneel at Henry’s feet, Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.
[Exit.]
Act V, Scene IV — Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou
Enter York, Warwick and others.
YORK. Bring forth that sorceress condemn’d to burn.
Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd.
SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father’s heart outright! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is my chance to find thee out, Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with thee!
PUCELLE. Decrepit miser, base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood. Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, as please you, ’tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows. Her mother liveth yet, can testify She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.
WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?
YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been, Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.
SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle! God knows thou art a collop of my flesh; And for thy sake have I shed many a tear. Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.
PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn’d this man Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
SHEPHERD. ’Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest The morn that I was wedded to her mother. Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity! I would the milk Thy mother gave thee when thou suck’dst her breast Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good.
[Exit.]
YORK. Take her away, for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
PUCELLE. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn’d: Not one begotten of a shepherd swain, But issued from the progeny of kings; Virtuous and holy, chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits. But you, that are polluted with your lusts, Stain’d with the guiltless blood of innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it straight a thing impossible To compass wonders but by help of devils. No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
YORK. Ay, ay; away with her to execution!
WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, Spare for no faggots, let there be enow. Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, That so her torture may be shortened.
PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, That warranteth by law to be thy privilege: I am with child, ye bloody homicides. Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death.
YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child?
WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e’er ye wrought! Is all your strict preciseness come to this?
YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling. I did imagine what would be her refuge.
WARWICK. Well, go to; we’ll have no bastards live, Especially since Charles must father it.
PUCELLE. You are deceived; my child is none of his. It was Alençon that enjoy’d my love.
YORK. Alençon, that notorious Machiavel! It dies and if it had a thousand lives.
PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you. ’Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I named, But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail’d.
WARWICK. A married man! That’s most intolerable.
YORK. Why, here’s a girl! I think she knows not well— There were so many—whom she may accuse.
WARWICK. It’s sign she hath been liberal and free.
YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure! Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee. Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.
PUCELLE. Then lead me hence, with whom I leave my curse: May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode; But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you, till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!
[Exit, guarded.]
YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
Enter Bishop of Winchester as Cardinal, attended.
WINCHESTER. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence With letters of commission from the King. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, Have earnestly implored a general peace Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; And here at hand the Dauphin and his train Approacheth to confer about some matter.
YORK. Is all our travail turn’d to this effect? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, That in this quarrel have been overthrown And sold their bodies for their country’s benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquered? O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief The utter loss of all the realm of France.
WARWICK. Be patient, York; if we conclude a peace, It shall be with such strict and severe covenants As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
Enter Charles, Alençon, Bastard, Reignier and others.
CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed That peaceful truce shall be proclaim’d in France, We come to be informed by yourselves What the conditions of that league must be.
YORK. Speak, Winchester, for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison’d voice By sight of these our baleful enemies.
WINCHESTER. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: That, in regard King Henry gives consent, Of mere compassion and of lenity, To ease your country of distressful war, And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, You shall become true liegemen to his crown. And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear To pay him tribute and submit thyself, Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, And still enjoy the regal dignity.
ALENÇON. Must he be then as shadow of himself? Adorn his temples with a coronet, And yet, in substance and authority, Retain but privilege of a private man? This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
CHARLES. ’Tis known already that I am possess’d With more than half the Gallian territories, And therein reverenced for their lawful king. Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish’d, Detract so much from that prerogative As to be call’d but viceroy of the whole? No, lord ambassador, I’ll rather keep That which I have than, coveting for more, Be cast from possibility of all.
YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means Used intercession to obtain a league, And, now the matter grows to compromise, Stand’st thou aloof upon comparison? Either accept the title thou usurp’st, Of benefit proceeding from our king And not of any challenge of desert, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.
REIGNIER. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy To cavil in the course of this contract. If once it be neglected, ten to one We shall not find like opportunity.
ALENÇON. To say the truth, it is your policy To save your subjects from such massacre And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen By our proceeding in hostility; And therefore take this compact of a truce, Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
WARWICK. How say’st thou, Charles? Shall our condition stand?
CHARLES. It shall; only reserv’d you claim no interest In any of our towns of garrison.
YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty, As thou art knight, never to disobey Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
[Charles and the rest give tokens of fealty.]
So, now dismiss your army when ye please; Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, For here we entertain a solemn peace.
[Exeunt.]
Act V, Scene V — London. The royal palace
Enter Suffolk in conference with the King, Gloucester and Exeter.
KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble earl, Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish’d me. Her virtues graced with external gifts Do breed love’s settled passions in my heart, And like as rigor of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale Is but a preface of her worthy praise; The chief perfections of that lovely dame, Had I sufficient skill to utter them, Would make a volume of enticing lines, Able to ravish any dull conceit; And, which is more, she is not so divine, So full replete with choice of all delights, But with as humble lowliness of mind She is content to be at your command; Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, To love and honour Henry as her lord.
KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne’er presume. Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent That Margaret may be England’s royal queen.
GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin. You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth’d Unto another lady of esteem. How shall we then dispense with that contract, And not deface your honour with reproach?
SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; Or one that, at a triumph having vow’d To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists By reason of his adversary’s odds. A poor earl’s daughter is unequal odds, And therefore may be broke without offence.
GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that? Her father is no better than an earl, Although in glorious titles he excel.
SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king, The King of Naples and Jerusalem; And of such great authority in France As his alliance will confirm our peace, And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do, Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower, Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.
SUFFOLK. A dower, my lords? Disgrace not so your king, That he should be so abject, base, and poor, To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. Henry is able to enrich his queen, And not to seek a queen to make him rich; So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. Marriage is a matter of more worth Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects, Must be companion of his nuptial bed. And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, Most of all these reasons bindeth us In our opinions she should be preferr’d. For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace. Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, Approves her fit for none but for a king; Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, More than in women commonly is seen, Will answer our hope in issue of a king; For Henry, son unto a conqueror, Is likely to beget more conquerors, If with a lady of so high resolve As is fair Margaret he be link’d in love. Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.
KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report, My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that My tender youth was never yet attaint With any passion of inflaming love, I cannot tell; but this I am assured, I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, As I am sick with working of my thoughts. Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France; Agree to any covenants, and procure That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come To cross the seas to England and be crown’d King Henry’s faithful and anointed queen. For your expenses and sufficient charge, Among the people gather up a tenth. Be gone, I say; for till you do return, I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. And you, good uncle, banish all offence. If you do censure me by what you were, Not what you are, I know it will excuse This sudden execution of my will. And so conduct me where, from company, I may revolve and ruminate my grief.
[Exit.]
GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
[Exeunt Gloucester and Exeter.]
SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail’d; and thus he goes, As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, With hope to find the like event in love, But prosper better than the Troyan did. Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the King; But I will rule both her, the King, and realm.
[Exit.]
THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH
Dramatis Personæ
KING HENRY THE SIXTH MARGARET, Queen to King Henry Humphrey, Duke of GLOUCESTER, his uncle ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester CARDINAL Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King
DUKE OF SOMERSET DUKE OF SUFFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM LORD CLIFFORD YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son VAUX
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of YORK EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons EARL OF SALISBURY EARL OF WARWICK
THOMAS HORNER, an armourer PETER THUMP, his man JOHN HUME, a priest JOHN SOUTHWELL, a priest Margery JOURDAIN, a witch ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer SIMPCOX, an impostor Wife to Simpcox Mayor of Saint Albans SIR JOHN STANLEY Two Murderers A LIEUTENANT MASTER Master’s-Mate Walter WHITMORE Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk
Jack CADE, a rebel George BEVIS John HOLLAND DICK the butcher SMITH the weaver MICHAEL, etc., followers of Cade CLERK of Chartham SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother LORD SCALES LORD SAYE MATTHEW GOUGH Alexander IDEN, a Kentish gentleman
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
A Spirit
SCENE: England.
Act I, Scene I — London. The palace
Flourish of trumpets, then hautboys. Enter the King, Gloucester, Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort on the one side; the Queen, Suffolk, York, Somerset and Buckingham on the other.
SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alençon, Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops, I have performed my task and was espoused, And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the Queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent: The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received.
KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise.—Welcome, Queen Margaret. I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss.—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.
QUEEN MARGARET. Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alderliefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my King With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And overjoy of heart doth minister.
KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, Her words yclad with wisdom’s majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys, Such is the fulness of my heart’s content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
ALL. [Kneeling.] Long live Queen Margaret, England’s happiness!
QUEEN MARGARET. We thank you all.
[Flourish.]
SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent.
GLOUCESTER. [Reads.] Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry, King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the King her father—
[Lets the paper fall.]
KING HENRY. Uncle, how now?
GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord. Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimmed mine eyes, that I can read no further.
KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on.
CARDINAL. [Reads.] Item, it is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of England’s own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.
KING HENRY. They please us well.—Lord Marquess, kneel down. We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk, And girt thee with the sword.—Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I’ th’ parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired.—Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for this great favour done In entertainment to my princely Queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be performed.
[Exeunt King, Queen and Suffolk.]
GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! Did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter’s cold and summer’s parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry’s conquest, Bedford’s vigilance, Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquered France, Undoing all, as all had never been!
CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, ’tis ours; and we will keep it still.
GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can, But now it is impossible we should. Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy! But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?
WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery; For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! Myself did win them both, Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer; And are the cities that I got with wounds Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu!
YORK. For Suffolk’s duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England’s kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives; And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages.
GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have staid in France, and starved in France, Before—
CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot. It was the pleasure of my lord the King.
GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind. ’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out. Proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury. If I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings.— Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long.
[Exit.]
CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage. ’Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the King. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood And heir apparent to the English crown. Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There’s reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords. Let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him “Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,” Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, “Jesu maintain your royal excellence!” With “God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!” I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous Protector.
BUCKINGHAM. Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We’ll quickly hoist Duke Humphrey from his seat.
CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay; I’ll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.
[Exit.]
SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey’s pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes’ in the land beside. If Gloucester be displaced, he’ll be Protector.
BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset.]
SALISBURY. Pride went before; Ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o’ th’ church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.— Warwick my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey.— And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee feared and honoured of the people. Join we together for the public good, In what we can to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal, With Somerset’s and Buckingham’s ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey’s deeds While they do tend the profit of the land.
WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land And common profit of his country!
YORK. And so says York, [Aside.] for he hath greatest cause.
SALISBURY. Then let’s make haste away and look unto the main.
WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost, That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain.
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.]
YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point now they are gone. Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter. I cannot blame them all. What is’t to them? ’Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, And purchase friends, and give to courtesans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; Whileas 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 shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own. So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargained for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England’s soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevilles’ parts, And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that’s the golden mark I seek to hit. Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile till time do serve. Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love With his new bride and England’s dear-bought Queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fallen at jars. Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed, And in my standard bear the arms of York, To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And force perforce I’ll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pulled fair England down.
[Exit.]
Act I, Scene II — The Duke of Gloucester’s House
Enter Duke Humphrey of Gloucester and his wife Eleanor.
ELEANOR. Why droops my lord, like over-ripened corn Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is’t too short? I’ll lengthen it with mine; And, having both together heaved 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.
GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that hour when I imagine ill Against my King and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.
ELEANOR. What dreamed my lord? Tell me, and I’ll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream.
GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by th’ Cardinal, And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund, Duke of Somerset And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk. This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows.
ELEANOR. Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester’s grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster And in that chair where kings and queens are crowned, Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneeled to me And on my head did set the diadem.
GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the Protector’s wife, beloved of him? 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 honour to disgrace’s feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more!
ELEANOR. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric With Eleanor for telling but her dream? Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be checked.
GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry, I am pleased again.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, ’tis his highness’ pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, Whereas the King and Queen do mean to hawk.
GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?
ELEANOR. Yes, my good lord, I’ll follow presently.
[Exeunt Gloucester and Messenger.]
Follow I must; I cannot go before While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune’s pageant.— Where are you there? Sir John! Nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here’s none but thee and I.
Enter Hume.
HUME. Jesus preserve your royal majesty!
ELEANOR. What sayst thou? Majesty! I am but grace.
HUME. But, by the grace of God, and Hume’s advice, Your grace’s title shall be multiplied.
ELEANOR. What sayst thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferred With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good?
HUME. This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of underground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your Grace shall be propounded him.
ELEANOR. It is enough, I’ll think upon the questions. 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.
[Exit.]
HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess’ gold. Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum; The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch; Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast. I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so. For, to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor’s aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the Duchess And buzz these conjurations in her brain. They say “A crafty knave does need no broker”, Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal’s broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so its 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.
[Exit.]
Act I, Scene III — London. The palace
Enter Peter and Petitioners.
1 PETITIONER. My masters, let’s stand close. My Lord Protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill.
2 PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he’s a good man! Jesu bless him!
Enter Suffolk and Queen.
1 PETITIONER. Here he comes, methinks, and the Queen with him. I’ll be the first, sure.
2 PETITIONER. Come back, fool! This is the Duke of Suffolk and not my Lord Protector.
SUFFOLK. How now, fellow; wouldst anything with me?
1 PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me, I took ye for my Lord Protector.
QUEEN MARGARET. [Reading.] “To my Lord Protector.” Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine?
1 PETITIONER. Mine is, an ’t please your grace, against John Goodman, my Lord Cardinal’s man, for keeping my house and lands, and wife and all, from me.
SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That’s some wrong, indeed.—What’s yours?—What’s here! [Reads.] Against the Duke of Suffolk for enclosing the commons of Melford. How now, sir knave!
2 PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.
PETER. [Giving his petition.] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.
QUEEN MARGARET. What sayst thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown?
PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth, my master said that he was, and that the King was an usurper.
SUFFOLK. Who is there?
Enter Servant.
Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently.—We’ll hear more of your matter before the King.
[Exit Servant with Peter.]
QUEEN MARGARET. And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our Protector’s grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.
[Tears the supplications.]
Away, base cullions!—Suffolk, let them go.
ALL. Come, let’s be gone.
[Exeunt.]
QUEEN MARGARET. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain’s isle, And this the royalty of Albion’s king? 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? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran’st atilt in honour of my love And stol’st away the ladies’ hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship, and proportion. But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads. His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope and carry him to Rome And set the triple crown upon his head! That were a state fit for his holiness.
SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace’s full content.
QUEEN MARGARET. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York; and not the least of these But can do more in England than the King.
SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevilles; Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.
QUEEN MARGARET. Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the Lord Protector’s wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey’s wife. Strangers in court do take her for the Queen. She bears a duke’s revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty. Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet 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.
SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have limed a bush for her And placed a quire of such enticing birds That she will light to listen to the lays And never mount to trouble you again. So let her rest; and, madam, list to me, For I am bold to counsel you in this: Although we fancy not the Cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. 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.
Sound a sennet. Enter the King, Gloucester, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, Buckingham, Salisbury, York, Warwick and the Duchess of Gloucester.
KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all’s one to me.
YORK. If York have ill demeaned himself in France, Then let him be denied the regentship.
SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him.
WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that; York is the worthier.
CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.
WARWICK. The Cardinal’s not my better in the field.
BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.
WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all.
SALISBURY. Peace, son!—And show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this.
QUEEN MARGARET. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so.
GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself To give his censure. These are no women’s matters.
QUEEN MARGARET. If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be Protector of his excellence?
GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm, And at his pleasure will resign my place.
SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king—as who is king but thou?— The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack, The Dauphin hath prevailed beyond the seas, And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.
CARDINAL. The commons hast thou racked; the clergy’s bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions.
SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife’s attire Have cost a mass of public treasury.
BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law.
QUEEN MARGARET. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.
[Exit Gloucester. The Queen drops her fan.]
Give me my fan. What minion! Can ye not?
[She gives the Duchess a box on the ear.]
I cry your mercy, madam; was it you?
ELEANOR. Was’t I! Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman. Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I’d set my ten commandments in your face.
KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; ’twas against her will.
ELEANOR. Against her will! Good King, look to ’t in time; She’ll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby. Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.
[Exit.]
BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds. She’s tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She’ll gallop far enough to her destruction.
[Exit.]
Enter Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 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! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France.
SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man.
YORK. I’ll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin’s hands. Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famished, and lost.
WARWICK. That can I witness, and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit.
SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick!
WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?
Enter Horner the armourer and his man Peter, guarded.
SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accused of treason. Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!
YORK. Doth anyone accuse York for a traitor?
KING HENRY. What mean’st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these?
SUFFOLK. Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason. His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York Was rightful heir unto the English crown, And that your majesty was an usurper.
KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words?
HORNER. An ’t shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain.
PETER. By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night as we were scouring my Lord of York’s armour.
YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I’ll have thy head for this thy traitor’s speech!— I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigour of the law.
HORNER. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me. I have good witness of this, therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain’s accusation.
KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?
GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent o’er the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion; And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant’s malice. This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey’s doom.
SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty.
HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly.
PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God’s sake, pity my case! The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!
GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hanged.
KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day Of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we’ll see thee sent away.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]
Act I, Scene IV — Gloucester’s Garden
Enter the Witch Margery Jourdain, the two Priests, Hume, Southwell and Bolingbroke.
HUME. Come, my masters. The duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises.
BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided. Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?
HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage.
BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit. But it shall be convenient, 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.
[Exit Hume.]
Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth. John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work.
Enter Duchess aloft, Hume following.
ELEANOR. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the sooner the better.
BOLINGBROKE. 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. Madam, sit you and fear not. Whom we raise We will make fast within a hallowed verge.
[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; Bolingbroke or Southwell reads “Conjuro te”, etc. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.]
SPIRIT. Adsum.
M. JOURDAIN. Asnath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence.
SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!
BOLINGBROKE. [Reads.] First of the King: what shall of him become?
SPIRIT. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose, But him outlive and die a violent death.
[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer.]
BOLINGBROKE. [Reads.] What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?
SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end.
BOLINGBROKE. [Reads.] What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?
SPIRIT. Let him shun castles. Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure.
BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid!
[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit.]
Enter the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham with their Guard, and Sir Humphrey Stafford, and break in.
YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watched you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains. My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdoned for these good deserts.
ELEANOR. Not half so bad as thine to England’s king, Injurious duke, that threatest where’s no cause.
BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What call you this? Away with them! Let them be clapped up close And kept asunder.—You, madam, shall with us.— Stafford, take her to thee.
[Exit Stafford.]
[Exeunt above, Duchess and Hume, guarded.]
We’ll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away!
[Exeunt guard with Jourdain, Southwell, Bolingbroke, etc.]
YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watched her well. A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let’s see the devil’s writ. What have we here? [Reads.] _The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose. But him outlive and die a violent death._ Why, this is just Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse. Well, to the rest: _Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand._ Come, come, my lords, these oracles Are hardly attained, and hardly understood. The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans, With him the husband of this lovely lady. Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them. A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector.
BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward.
YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord.
[Exit Buckingham.]
Who’s within there, ho!
Enter a Servingman.
Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me tomorrow night. Away!
[Exeunt.]
Act II, Scene I — Saint Albans
Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Cardinal and Suffolk with Falconers hallooing.
QUEEN MARGARET. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook I saw not better sport these seven years’ day; Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high, And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.
KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all His creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your majesty, My Lord Protector’s hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch.
GLOUCESTER. My lord, ’tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
CARDINAL. I thought as much. He would be above the clouds.
GLOUCESTER. Ay, my Lord Cardinal, how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?
KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy.
CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart, Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer, That smooth’st it so with king and commonweal!
GLOUCESTER. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice. With such holiness can you do it?
SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.
GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord?
SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord, An ’t like your lordly Lord Protectorship.
GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.
QUEEN MARGARET. And thy ambition, Gloucester.
KING HENRY. I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make Against this proud Protector, with my sword!
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to Cardinal.] Faith, holy uncle, would ’twere come to that!
CARDINAL. [Aside to Gloucester.] Marry, when thou dar’st.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to Cardinal.] Make up no factious numbers for the matter, In thine own person answer thy abuse.
CARDINAL. [Aside to Gloucester.] Ay, where thou dar’st not peep; an if thou dar’st, This evening, on the east side of the grove.
KING HENRY. How now, my lords?
CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport.—[Aside to Gloucester.] Come with thy two-hand sword.
GLOUCESTER. True, uncle. [Aside to Cardinal.] Are ye advised? The east side of the grove?
CARDINAL. [Aside to Gloucester.] I am with you.
KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester?
GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. [Aside to Cardinal.] Now, by God’s mother, priest, I’ll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail.
CARDINAL. [Aside to Gloucester.] Medice, teipsum.— Protector, see to ’t well, protect yourself.
KING HENRY. 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 a Townsman of Saint Albans, crying, “A miracle!”
GLOUCESTER. What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?
TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle!
SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle.
TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban’s shrine, Within this half hour, hath received his sight, A man that ne’er saw in his life before.
KING HENRY. Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!
Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans and his brethren, bearing Simpcox between two in a chair, Simpcox’s Wife following.
CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man.
KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters. Bring him near the King. His highness’ pleasure is to talk with him.
KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?
SIMPCOX. Born blind, an ’t please your grace.
WIFE. Ay, indeed, was he.
SUFFOLK. What woman is this?
WIFE. His wife, an ’t like your worship.
GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told.
KING HENRY. Where wert thou born?
SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an ’t like your grace.
KING HENRY. Poor soul, God’s goodness hath been great to thee. Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done.
QUEEN MARGARET. Tell me, good fellow, cam’st thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?
SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being called A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban, who said “Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.”
WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so.
CARDINAL. What, art thou lame?
SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me!
SUFFOLK. How cam’st thou so?
SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree.
WIFE. A plum-tree, master.
GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind?
SIMPCOX. O, born so, master.
GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree?
SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.
WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.
GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov’dst plums well, that wouldst venture so.
SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life.
GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve.— Let me see thine eyes. Wink now. Now open them. In my opinion yet thou seest not well.
SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban.
GLOUCESTER. Sayst thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?
SIMPCOX. Red, master, red as blood.
GLOUCESTER. Why, that’s well said. What colour is my gown of?
SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth, coal-black as jet.
KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know’st what colour jet is of?
SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day, a many.
WIFE. Never before this day in all his life.
GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what’s my name?
SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not.
GLOUCESTER. What’s his name?
SIMPCOX. I know not.
GLOUCESTER. Nor his?
SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master.
GLOUCESTER. What’s thine own name?
SIMPCOX. Sander Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
GLOUCESTER. Then, Sander, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible.—My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great that could restore this cripple to his legs again?
SIMPCOX. O master, that you could!
GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?
MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently.
MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.
[Exit a Townsman.]
GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by.—Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away.
SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone. You go about to torture me in vain.
Enter a Beadle with whips.
GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.
BEADLE. I will, my lord.—Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly.
SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.
[After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, “A miracle!”]
KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?
QUEEN MARGARET. It made me laugh to see the villain run.
GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away.
WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipped through every market town Till they come to Berwick, from whence they came.
[Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, etc.]
CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle today.
SUFFOLK. True, made the lame to leap and fly away.
GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I. You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.
Enter Buckingham.
KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?
BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector’s wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers, Whom we have apprehended in the fact, Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry’s life and death, And other of your highness’ Privy Council, As more at large your Grace shall understand.
CARDINAL. [Aside to Gloucester.] And so, my Lord Protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turned your weapon’s edge; ’Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart. Sorrow and grief have vanquished all my powers, And, vanquished as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom.
KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!
QUEEN MARGARET. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest, And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.
GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal How I have loved my king and commonweal; And, for my wife, I know not how it stands. Sorry I am to hear what I have heard. Noble she is; but if she have forgot Honour and virtue, and conversed with such As like to pitch defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame That hath dishonoured Gloucester’s honest name.
KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here; 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.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]
Act II, Scene II — London. The Duke of York’s Garden
Enter York, Salisbury and Warwick.
YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England’s crown.
SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full.
WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good, The Nevilles are thy subjects to command.
YORK. Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield; and the third, Lionel, Duke of Clarence; next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third’s death reigned as king, Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crowned by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously.
WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth; Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.
YORK. Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son’s heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reigned.
SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.
YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claim the crown, had issue, Philippa, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Edmund had issue, Roger, Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.
SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest.
YORK. His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown, Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third’s fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom; she was heir To Roger, Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippa, Sole daughter unto Lionel, Duke of Clarence. So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king.
WARWICK. What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel’s issue fails, his should not reign; It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together, And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown.
BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England’s king!
YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crowned, and that my sword be stained With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that’s not suddenly to be performed, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days— Wink at the Duke of Suffolk’s insolence, At Beaufort’s pride, at Somerset’s ambition, At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey. ’Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that, Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.
SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.
WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.
YORK. And, Neville, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king.
[Exeunt.]
Act II, Scene III — A Hall of Justice
Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Gloucester, York, Suffolk and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloucester, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume and Bolingbroke under guard.
KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester’s wife. In sight of God and us, your guilt is great; Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God’s book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution. The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days’ open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.
ELEANOR. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.
GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee. I cannot justify whom the law condemns.
[Exeunt Duchess and the other prisoners, guarded.]
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!— I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.
KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester. Ere thou go, Give up thy staff. Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert Protector to thy king.
QUEEN MARGARET. I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England’s realm! Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm.
GLOUCESTER. My staff? Here, noble Henry, is my staff. As willingly do I the same resign As e’er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good King. When I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne.
[Exit.]
QUEEN MARGARET. Why, now is Henry King and Margaret Queen, And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim. Two pulls at once; His lady banished, and a limb lopped off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry’s hand.
SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor’s pride dies in her youngest days.
YORK. Lords, let him go.—Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat, And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight.
QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court to see this quarrel tried.
KING HENRY. I’ God’s name, see the lists and all things fit. Here let them end it, and God defend the right!
YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of his armourer, my lords.
Enter at one door Horner the armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sandbag fastened to it; and at the other door Peter, his man, with a drum and sandbag, and Prentices drinking to him.
1 NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.
2 NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here’s a cup of charneco.
3 NEIGHBOUR. And here’s a pot of good double beer, neighbour. Drink, and fear not your man.
HORNER. Let it come, i’ faith, and I’ll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter!
1 PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee, and be not afraid.
2 PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master. Fight for credit of the prentices.
PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you, for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God, for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already.
SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows. Sirrah, what’s thy name?
PETER. Peter, forsooth.
SALISBURY. Peter? What more?
PETER. Thump.
SALISBURY. Thump! Then see thou thump thy master well.
HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man’s instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow!
YORK. Dispatch! This knave’s tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets. Alarum to the combatants!
[They fight, and Peter strikes him down.]
HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.
[Dies.]
YORK. Take away his weapon.—Fellow, thank God and the good wine in thy master’s way.
PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!
KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight, For by his death we do perceive his guilt. And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murdered wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
[Sound a flourish. Exeunt.]
Act II, Scene IV — A Street
Enter Gloucester and his Servingmen in mourning cloaks.
GLOUCESTER. 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. Sirs, what’s o’clock?
SERVINGMEN. Ten, my lord.
GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punished duchess. Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 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-stained eyes to see her miseries.
Enter the Duchess of Gloucester in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with Sir John Stanley, the Sheriff, and Officers.
SERVINGMEN. So please your Grace, we’ll take her from the sheriff.
GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.
ELEANOR. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee. Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell, forget this grief.
ELEANOR. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, Protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mailed up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trowest thou that e’er I’ll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No, dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometimes I’ll say, I am Duke Humphrey’s wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land; Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings; And fly thou how thou canst, they’ll tangle thee. But fear not thou until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry. 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. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away, But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell. I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days’ wonder will be quickly worn.
Enter a Herald.
HERALD. I summon your grace to his majesty’s parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month.
GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne’er asked herein before? This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.
[Exit Herald.]
My Nell, I take my leave; and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the King’s commission.
SHERIFF. An ’t please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?
STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may ’t please your grace.
GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well. The world may laugh again, And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell.
ELEANOR. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell?
GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
[Exeunt Gloucester and Servingmen.]
ELEANOR. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee, For none abides with me; my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wished this world’s eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence, I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded.
STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man, There to be used according to your state.
ELEANOR. That’s bad enough, for I am but reproach; And shall I then be used reproachfully?
STANLEY. Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey’s lady; According to that state you shall be used.
ELEANOR. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.
SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.
ELEANOR. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go?
STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey.
ELEANOR. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet, No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way, I long to see my prison.
[Exeunt.]