University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter King Henry.
K. Hen.
Never had King less Joy in Rule than I,
Nor more Misfortune; Heaven was pleas'd to set
My Cradle on the Top of humane Glory,
Where I lay helpless, to all Storms expos'd;
My childish Hand, not able to support
My Father's Sword, dropt the victorious Point,
And let fall all the Laurels that adorn'd it;
And French and English ravag'd for the Spoil.
So lost I France; now am I threatned too
By wicked Rebels, with the Loss of England:
Cade and Plantagenet joyn to undo me.
Never did Subject long to be a King,
As I do long, and wish to be a Subject.

Enter the Queen, attended.
Queen.
Health and good Tidings to your Majesty;
The Villain Cade, is kill'd by brave young Clifford.

K. Hen.
Kill'd!

Queen.
He is kill'd, my Lord; and all his Powers do yield,
And wait your Highness' Doom, of Life, or Death.

K. Hen.
Their Fault was great, 'tis true; but their Submission
Now cancels that, and they shall meet my Mercy.
Therefore with pleasing Pardon to them all,
I do dismiss 'em to their several Homes.

Queen.
Kings should have Mercy, but with it Justice too.

K. Hen.
Just Heaven accept my Vows of Thanks and Praise,
For having sav'd the Lives of my poor People.
I swear I am more pleas'd to see this End,
Without the Shedding my poor Subjects Blood,
Than I should be to conquer the whole World
By Slaughter—but—Ha! old Clifford weeping.

Enter Old Clifford.
O. Cliff.
Yes, Sir, I weep; but I weep Tears of Joy;
For I am crush'd between Two mighty Joys,
Your Royal Safety, and my Son's Success.

Enter Young Clifford, and kneels.
K. Hen.
O gallant Clifford! how shall I reward thee?

Y. Cliff.
I fought not for Rewards; or if I did,
I ought to end my Work e'er I be paid.
I have only now pull'd down a paltry Scaffold,
On which Plantagenet design'd to climb,
To build his trayt'rous Projects—Have you not heard
The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland;
And with a puissant and mighty Power,
Is marching hitherwards in proud Array.

K. Hen.
True, he approaches with a mighty Host,
But he gives out, he only does intend
To drive away from me some wicked Ministers.

Y. Cliff.
The constant Vizard of Rebellion.
Rebellion is so foul and grim a Monster,
That those who mount the horrid Beast are forc'd
To cover it all o'er with gawdy Trappings.
They mark it in the Forehead with white Stars,
Pretences heavenly.

Queen.
Believe me, Sir—he tells you nought but Truth.

K. Hen.
Thus stands my State, 'twixt Cade and York distrest,
Like to a Ship, that having scap'd a Tempest
Is straitway calm'd, and boarded with a Pirate.
I pray thee, old Clifford, go and meet him,
And ask him what's the Reason of these Arms.

O. Cliff.
I will, my Lord, and doubt not so to deal,
As all Things shall redound unto your Good.

K. Hen.
Come Wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
For yet may England curse my wretched Reign.

[Exeunt.
Enter York, Edward, George, Richard, and Soldiers.
York.
From Ireland thus comes York to claim his Right,
And pluck the Crown from feeble Henry's Head.
Oh holy Majesty! who would not buy thee dear,
Let them obey that know not how to rule.
This Hand was made to handle nought but Gold.
I cannot give due Action to my Words,
Except a Sword or Sceptre ballance it.
A Scepter shall it have. Have I a Soul!
On which I'll toss the Flower de Luce of France.
Enter Old Clifford.
Whom have we here? old Clifford to disturb me?
The King hath sent him sure—I must dissemble.

O. Cliff.
York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

York.
Clifford of Cumberland, I accept thy Greeting.
Art thou a Messenger, or come of Pleasure?

O. Cliff.
A Messenger from Henry our dread Liege,
To know the Reason of these Arms in Peace?
Or why, thou being a Subject, as I am,
Against thy Oath, and true Allegiance sworn,
Should raise so great a Pow'r without his Leave;
Or dare to bring thy Force so near the Court?

York.
Scarce can I speak, my Choler is so great.
Oh! I could hew up Rocks, and fight with Flint,
I am so angry at these abject Terms:
And now, like frantick Ajax,
On Sheep, or Oxen, could I spend my Fury.
I am far better born than is the King;
More like a King, more kingly in my Thoughts.
But I must make fair Weather yet a while,
Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.
[aside.]
O Cumberland, I prithee pardon me.
That I have giv'n no Answer all this while.
My Mind was troubled with deep Melancholy,
The Cause why I have brought this Army hither,
Is to remove proud Somerset from the King,
Seditious to his Grace, and to the State.

O. Cliff.
That is too much Presumption on thy Part.
But if thy Arms be to no other End,
The King hath yielded unto thy Demand:
The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

York.
Upon thy Honour, Is he Prisoner?

O. Cliff.
Upon my Honour, he is Prisoner.

York.
Then, noble Clifford, I'll dismiss my Pow'rs,
And let my Sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldest Son; nay, all my Sons,
As Pledges of my Fealty and Love;
I'll send 'em all, as willing as I live.
Lands, Goods, House, Armour, every Thing I have,
Is to his Use, so Somerset may die.

O. Cliff.
York, I commend this kind Submission;
And I am sure 'twill glad King Henry's Heart,
Come, let us Two go friendly to the King.

Enter King Henry, attended.
K. Hen.
Clifford, doth York intend no Harm to us,
That thus he marches with thee Arm in Arm.

York.
In all Submission and Humility,
York doth present himself unto your Highness.

K. Hen.
Then what intend these Forces thou dost bring.

York.
To have the Traytor Somerset from hence,
And fight against that monstrous Rebel Cade;
Who since, I hear, is overcome and slain.

Enter the Queen, and Somerset.
K. Hen.
See, old Clifford; Somerset comes with the Queen;
Go bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.

Queen.
For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his Head,
But boldly stand, and front him to his Face.

York.
How now? Is Somerset at Liberty?
Then York unloose thy long imprison'd Thoughts,
And let thy Tongue be equal with thy Heart.
Shall I endure the Sight of Somerset?
False King, why hast thou broken Faith with me,
Knowing how hardly I can brook Abuse?
King, did I call thee? no, thou art no King,
Nor fit to govern and rule Multitudes,
Who has not Power to rule a single Traytor;
That Head of thine doth not become a Crown;
Thy Hand is made to grasp a Palmer's Staff,
And not to grace an awful princely Scepter:
That Gold must round engirt these Brows of mine,
Whose Smile and Frown, like to Achilles's Spear,
Is able, with the Change, to kill and cure;
Here is a Hand to hold the Scepter up,
And, with the same, to act controuling Laws:
Give Place; by Heav'n thou shalt rule no more
O'er him, whom Heav'n created for thy Ruler.

Som.
O, monstrous Traytor! I arrest thee, York,
Of capital Treason 'gainst the King and Crown.

York.
Somerset, in whose Name do you arrest me?

Som.
In the King's Name.

York.
Then I'll unfold my self;
Know, hitherto I've been like a dark Cloud,
Where scorching Heat has been engendring Thunder;
The Grumbling and the Rowling you have heard,
And now the deadly Bolt shalt light among you:
I am your King.

K. Hen.
Ha!

York.
Yes, I am your King,
Sprung from the Royal House of Clarence,
Whom three Usurpers of the House of Lancaster,
Successively, have trodden under Feet,
Whilst they have glitter'd in our Royal Glory,
Shone like false Diamonds in our Purple Robes.

Enter young Clifford.
Y. Cliff.
Health and all Happiness to my Lord the King.

York.
I thank thee, Clifford, say, What News with thee?
Nay, think not to fright me with an angry Look,
We are thy Sovereign, Clifford, kneel thee down,
For thy mistaking so we pardon thee.

Y. Cliff.
This is my King, York, I do not mistake,
But thou mistakest much to think I do.
To Bedlam with him—Is the Man grown mad?

K. Hen.
Ay, Clifford, Frenzy and ambitious Humour
Make him oppose himself against his King!

Y. Cliff.
Did we not tell you this?

Edw.
And we will tell you more, obey your King,
I mean, my Royal Father, or our Swords
Shall turn the Arrest of Treason on your selves.

O. Cliff.
Surely you think you are among your Beauties,
Amorous Edward, there your Valour lies.

Queen.
Let them admire thy Boasts, here art thou scorn'd.

Edw.
'Tis said, when the brave Duke of Suffolk liv'd,
Queen Margaret would not contemn a Lover;
I'm young, and love, but yet I am not stricken
So blind with Beauty, but I can discern
Both the fair Kingdom, and the fair Queen, lie
Sick of the Impotence of a weak King.

Queen.
Ill manner'd Insolence!

Y. Cliff.
Why, what a brood of Traytors have we here?

York.
Look in a Glass, and call thy Image so;
I am thy King, and thou a false hearted Traytor.
I've declar'd my Right, and here are my three Sons
To plead it with their Swords. Now I'll produce
The Sword of the Victorious Earl of Warwick.
Call in the Earl.

Enter Warwick.
K. Hen.
Thou against me, Warwick!
Say, didst thou never swear Allegiance to me,
And canst dispense with Heav'n for such an Oath?

War.
It is great Sin to swear unto a Sin,
But greater Sin to keep a sinful Oath:
Who can be bound by any solemn Vow,
To do a murderous Deed, to rob a Man,
To force a spotless Virgin's Chastity,
To 'reave the Orphan of his Patrimony,
And have no other Reason for his Wrong,
But that he was bound to't by solemn Oath?

Queen.
A subtle Traytor needs no Sophister.

War.
Cause I ador'd an Idol once, in Ignorance,
Must I still do so, now I see my Error?
Know, Duke of Lancaster (for you are no more)
Henry, your Grandfather, murder'd his King,
Richard the Second; not content with that,
He trampled on the Rights of the next Heirs.
Your Father, warlike Henry, I confess,
Had in Desert what he did want in Title:
But Merit makes no lawful Claim to Crowns,
For if it did, I wou'd be King of England;
But I will tell you to your Face, Duke Henry,
That you have neither Title nor Desert.

Queen., O. Cliff., Y. Cliff., Som.
Most impudent of Traytors.

War.
I'll speak Truth,
And value not the Fury of you all;
Your Father Henry was a Wall of Steel,
Thro' which there was no Passage to the Throne,
But you are only a soft silken Curtain,
Which with my Hand, or Breath, I'll put aside,
And seat your self, King Richard, in the Throne,
For it is empty tho' the Duke be there.

Y. Cliff.
What, have these Traytors conquer'd us already,
They talk at this bold Rate? Thou Traytor Warwick,
Warwick, no! when thou dethron'st thy King
Thou mad'st thy self a Groom, by the same Law
Thou tramplest on thy King; a sawcy Groom
May set his dirty Foot upon thy Jaws,
And tell thee they were made both of one Clay.

Edw.
What a fierce Talker's this?

War.
I laugh at him;
All this loud Noise and Fury you have heard
Is but the Crackling of some burning Thorn,
That hedge the Duke, and they will soon be Ashes.

Queen.
Wherefore does Henry parley with these Miscreants?
Let's draw the Sword, and chase these Rebels hence,
Daily Disturbers of our Peace.

York.
Poor Margaret,
I cannot blame thy Rage, but pity thee,
For thou hast cause to rail, since from the Fall
Of good Duke Humphrey, all those Schemes prov'd Air,
Which hop'd Success from noble Gloster's Death;
Mark Heaven's Vengeance.

Queen.
Proud insulting York!
Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

York.
Call Buckingham, and all the Friends thou hast,
I am resolv'd for Death or Dignity.

O. Cliff.
The first, I warrant thee—if Dreams prove true.

War.
You were best go to Bed, and dream again,
To keep thee from the Tempest of the Field.

O. Cliff.
I am resolv'd to bear a greater Storm
Than any thou can'st conjure up to Day.

Y. Cliff.
And so to Arms, my brave, and noble Father,
To quell the Rebels and their Complices.

War.
And Royal Richard, fix'd on Loyal Warwick,
Stand like a Cedar on a Mountain Top,
Securely rooted, and despise all Storm.

Edw.
Now sound the Trumpets, and each Man draw his Sword,
A Crown's the Prize, and Victory the Word.

K. Hen.
My Cause is fix'd in Heaven, for it is just,
And more in Heaven than our Arms I trust.

[Exeunt severally.
A great Charge here.
Enter Warwick and York Meeting.
War.
How now, my noble Lord. What, all a foot?

York.
The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed,
And I have made a Prey for Kites and Crows,
Even of the bonny Beast he lov'd so well.

Enter old Clifford.
War.
Old Clifford, now prepare to meet thy Fate.

York.
Hold Warwick, seek thou out some other Chase,
For I my self must hunt this Deer to Death.

War.
Then nobly, York, 'tis for a Crown thou fight'st.
As I intend Clifford to thrive to Day,
It grieves my Soul to leave thee unassail'd.

[Exit.
O Cliff.
York, with thy Bearing shou'd I be in love,
But that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in Treason.

York.
So let it help me now against thy Sword,
As I in Justice, and true Right, express it.
[They fight, Clifford falls.
Farewel, old valiant Clifford, I should now
Be sorry for thee, wert thou not my Enemy.

[Exit.
O. Cliff.
I do not lack thy Sorrow, thou art a Traytor,
And I for Loyalty die honourably.

Enter Richard and Somerset. They fight. Somerset falls.
Rich.
So lie thou there,
For underneath an Alehouse paltry Sign,
The Castle in St. Albans, Somerset
Hath made the Wizard famous in his Death.
Sword, hold thy Temper; Heart be wrathful still,
Priests pray for Enemies, but Princes kill.

[Exit.
Enter young Clifford.
Y. Cliff.
Shame and Confusion! all is on the Rout!
My Men are fled, or slain, and I alone
Stand like a lofty Mast, shewing my Head
Above the Waves, when all the Ship is sunk.
I cannot find my Father, nor my King.

O. Cliff.
Oh, Son!

Y. Cliff.
Ha!
Methought I heard a Voice resembling much
My Father's, very weak and faint it seem'd,
As he were far from me, or near to Death.

O. Cliff.
Oh, Clifford, 'tis thy aged Father calls!

Y. Cliff.
Ha! Oh, there he lies!
All wel'tring in his Gore, gasping for Life!
Oh Father! Father! if thou hast Breath enough,
Leave with me but the Name of him that wounded thee,
That I may give thee, and my Self, Revenge,
And I'll prefer that glorious Legacy,
Before the Estate and Honour which thou leav'st me.

O. Cliff.
Plantagenet gave me my Death. Farewel!

[dies.
Y. Cliff.
Plantagenet gave thee thy Death! Plantagenet
Then gave himself, and all his Race Destruction.
Now let the general Trumpet blow his Blast,
And Nature start at this great deadly Shock.
Wast thou ordain'd, Oh, my dear, loving, Father,
To lose thy Youth in Peace, and in thy Age
To die in Ruffian Battle? Ev'n at this Sight
My Heart is turn'd to Stone; and from this Time
I will be famous for inhuman Cruelty.
Tears, to me, shall be as the Dew to Fire;
And Beauty, that the Tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming Wrath be Oil and Flax.
Ne'er more will I have ought to do with Pity.
Meet I an Infant of the House of York,
Into as many Gobbets will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Absurtus did.
York kills our old Men, and I'll kill his Children,
That when he's dead he may not have a Son
To bear him to the Grave, as I my Father.
Alas, he hears me not—he's dead, he's gone!
Come thou new Ruin of old Clifford's House,
As did Æneas old Anchises bear,
So I'll bear thee upon my manly Shoulders;
But then Æneas bare a living Load:
Nothing so heavy as these Woes of mine.

[Exit.
Trumpets sound, and great Shouts. Enter York, Edward, Richard, George, and Soldiers.
York.
Of brave Warwick, Who can report of him?
This happy Day
Is not it self, nor have we won one Foot,
If that brave Man be lost.

Rich.
My noble Father,
Three Times, to Day, I help'd him to his Horse;
Three Times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
Perswaded him from any further Act,
And still where Danger was, still there I met him.
But Noble as he is, look where he comes.

Enter Warwick.
York.
Let me embrace the greatest Man that breathes.

Geo.
England will learn again to fight and conquer;
A glorious Science we have almost lost,
Under the Reign of this tame, bookish King.

War.
What is become of the young boasting Clifford?
Fate, as if tender of him, did to Day,
When e'er I met him, thrust a Crowd betwixt us.

York.
I met his Father in the Field; and there
I put the brave old Man to his last Bed.
The stout old Winter Lion, that had long
Endur'd the Brush of Time, fought with that Heat
As he had been but in the Spring of Youth:
Like Arras Hangings in a homely House,
So was his gallant Spirit in his Body.

Edw.
Whilst we pursu'd the Horse-Men of the North
With too much Heat, the King escap'd our Hands;
But he has left behind some of his Friends;
I fell upon the gallant Duke of Buckingham,
And with one fortunate substantial Blow
I cleft his good steel Helmet and his Scull.

War.
Now, by my Sword, well hast thou fought to Day;
So did we all;
And by my Life, Lords, 'twas a glorious Day;
St. Alban's Battle worthy famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all Age to come:
But now, my Lord, post we with speed to London,
For thither, I am told, the King is fled,
And there he will repair this Day's wide Breach.
Citizens always love tame, pious Princes,
And such as abhor fighting, like themselves.
Then, if you can, enter the Town before 'em,
And fill it with your Troops, and see to Morrow
To get early into the Parliament House,
There guarded well, openly claim the Crown;
My Tongue and Sword shall both assert your Title;
Then let me see who shall dare be so bold,
To gainsay what we with our Swords assert.

York.
Thou Soul of Valour, Wisdom and Nobility,
I'll take thy Counsel.

War.
—Come then, away,
Our Enemies gain Strength by our Delay.

[Exeunt.