« ПредишнаНапред »
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy melting king, like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath inrolled in the parliament ;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;
Now if the help of Norfolk ånd myself;
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Wil but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry, “ Charge upon our foes !"
But never once again turn back, and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak:
Ne'er may he live to see a sun shine, day,
That cries, retire, --if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,
And when thou fail'it, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend !
WAR. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ;
The next degree is England's royal throne,
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along,
And he, that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown;
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, weré thy heart as hard as steel,
As thou haft shewn it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up drums ; God and St. George for us!
Enter a Messenger.
WAR. How now? what news?
Mes. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by ine,
The queen is coming with a puissant hoft;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.
SCENE III. Changes to York
Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland,
and the Prince of Wales, with drums and trumpets.
Queen. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompast with your crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
K. HEN. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their
To see this fight, it irks my very soul,
-With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast, that would usurp their den.
Whofe hand is that the foreft beast doth lick ?
Not his that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking ferpent's mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back,
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on ;
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown ;
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows.
He but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving fire :
Thou being a king, bleft with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ;
And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings,
Which sometimes they have us'd with fearful Aight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their neft,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence ?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ;
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy
Should lose his birth-right by his father's fault.
And long hereafter say unto his child,
“ What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
“ My careless father fondly gave away !".
Ah, what a shame was this ! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford plaid the oratory
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success!
And happy always was it for that son,
Whole father for his hoarding went to hell ?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ;
And 'would, my father had left me no more !
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York; 'would, thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
Queen. My lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are nigh;
And this soft courage makes your followers faint ;
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son,
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, zrile a knight ;
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right,
PRINCE. My gracious father, by your kingly leave;
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward priace.
Enter a Mesfenger.
Mel. Royal commanders, be in readiness ;
For, with a band of thirty thousand men,
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York:
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him king; and many fly to him,
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
Crip. I would your highness would depart the field,
The queen hath best success, when you are absent.
QUEEN, Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
K. Hen. Why that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTH. Be it with resolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheath your sword, good father; cry St. George !
SCENE IV. March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Rich
ard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,
And set thy diadem upon my head ;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
QUEEN. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king ?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his keee;
I was adopted heir by his consent;
Since when, his oath is broke, for as I hear,
You that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Have caus’d him by new act of parliament
To blot out me, and put his own son in.
CLIF. And reaion too.
Who should succeed the father, but the sun ?
Rich. Are you there, butcher ? -0, I cannot speak,
Clir. Ay, Crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
Or any he the proudest of thy fort.
you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not ?
CLIF. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy’d.
Rich. For God's sake lords, give signal to the figh
WAR., What fay'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the
crown? QUEEN. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare
you speak ?