Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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1.2 Enter Richard, Edward Earl of March, and the Marquis of Montague

RICHARD

Brother, though I be youngest give me leave.

EDWARD

No, I can better play the orator.

MONTAGUE

But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Enter the Duke of York

YORK

Why, how now, sons and brother—at a strife?

What is your quarrel? How began it first?

EDWARD

No quarrel, but a slight contention.

YORK About what?

RICHARD

About that which concerns your grace and us—

The crown of England, father, which is yours.

YORK

Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.

RICHARD

Your right depends not on his life or death.

EDWARD

Now you are heir—therefore enjoy it now.

By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,

It will outrun you, father, in the end.

YORK

I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

EDWARD

But for a kingdom any oath may be broken.

I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

RICHARD (to York)

No—God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

YORK

I shall be if I claim by open war.

RICHARD

I’ll prove the contrary, if you’ll hear me speak.

YORK

Thou canst not, son—it is impossible.

RICHARD

An oath is of no moment being not took

Before a true and lawful magistrate

That hath authority over him that swears.

Henry had none, but did usurp the place.

Then, seeing ’twas he that made you to depose,

Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.

Therefore to arms—and, father, do but think

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,

Within whose circuit is Elysium

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest

Until the white rose that I wear be dyed

Even in the luke-warm blood of Henry’s heart.

YORK

Richard, enough! I will be king or die.

(To Montague) Brother, thou shalt to London presently

And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.

Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk

And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, shall to Edmund Brook, Lord Cobham,

With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.

In them I trust, for they are soldiers

Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.

While you are thus employed, what resteth more

But that I seek occasion how to rise,

And yet the King not privy to my drift,

Nor any of the house of Lancaster.

Enter a Messenger

But stay, what news? Why com’st thou in such post?

MESSENGER

The Queen, with all the northern earls and lords,

Intend here to besiege you in your castle.

She is hard by with twenty thousand men,

And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

YORK

Ay, with my sword. What—think’st thou that we fear

them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;

My brother Montague shall post to London.

Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,

Whom we have left protectors of the King,

With powerful policy strengthen themselves,

And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

MONTAGUE

Brother, I go—I’ll win them, fear it not.

And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit

Enter Sir John Mortimer and his brother Sir Hugh

YORK

Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.

SIR JOHN

She shall not need, we’ll meet her in the field.

YORK What, with five thousand men?

RICHARD

Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.

A woman’s general—what should we fear?

A march sounds afar off

EDWARD

I hear their drums. Let’s set our men in order,

And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

YORK ⌈to Sir John and Sir Hugh⌉

Five men to twenty—though the odds be great,

I doubt not, uncles, of our victory.

Many a battle have I won in France

Whenas the enemy hath been ten to one—

Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt

1.3 Alarums, and then enter the young Earl of Rutland and his Tutor, a chaplain

RUTLAND

Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands?

Enter Lord Clifford with soldiers

Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.

CLIFFORD (to the Tutor)

Chaplain, away—thy priesthood saves thy life.

As for the brat of this accursed duke,

Whose father slew my father—he shall die.

TUTOR

And I, my lord, will bear him company.

CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him.

TUTOR

Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child

Lest thou be hated both of God and man.

Exit, guarded

⌈Rutland falls to the ground⌉

CLIFFORD

How now—is he dead already?

Or is it fear that makes him close his eyes?

I’ll open them.

RUTLAND ⌈reviving⌉

So looks the pent-up lion o‘er the wretch

That trembles under his devouring paws,

And so he walks, insulting o’er his prey,

And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.

Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword

And not with such a cruel threat’ning look.

Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

I am too mean a subject for thy wrath.

Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

CLIFFORD

In vain thou speak’st, poor boy. My father’s blood

Hath stopped the passage where thy words should

enter.

RUTLAND

Then let my father’s blood open it again.

He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD

Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine

Were not revenge sufficient for me.

No—if I digged up thy forefathers’ graves,

And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.

The sight of any of the house of York

Is as a fury to torment my soul.

And till I root out their accursed line,

And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

Therefore—

RUTLAND

O, let me pray before I take my death.

⌈Kneeling⌉ To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.

CLIFFORD

Such pity as my rapier’s point affords.

RUTLAND

I never did thee harm—why wilt thou slay me?

CLIFFORD

Thy father hath.

RUTLAND But ’twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one son—for his sake pity me,

Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,

He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days,

And when I give occasion of offence,

Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

CLIFFORD

No cause? Thy father slew my father, therefore die. He stabs him

RUTLAND

Dii faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae. He dies

CLIFFORD

Plantagenet—I come, Plantagenet!

And this thy son’s blood cleaving to my blade

Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood,

Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both.

Exit with Rutland’s body ⌈and soldiers⌉

1.4 Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York YORK

The army of the Queen hath got the field;

My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind,

Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

My sons—God knows what hath bechancèd them.

But this I know—they have demeaned themselves

Like men born to renown by life or death.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me,

And thrice cried, ‘Courage, father, fight it out!’

And full as oft came Edward to my side,

With purple falchion painted to the hilt

In blood of those that had encountered him.

And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

Richard cried, ‘Charge and give no foot of ground!’

And cried ‘A crown or else a glorious tomb!

A sceptre or an earthly sepulchre!’

With this, we charged again—but out, alas—

We bodged again, as I have seen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide

And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

A short alarum within

Ah, hark—the fatal followers do pursue,

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;

And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.

The sands are numbered that makes up my life.

Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter Queen Margaret, Lord Clifford, the Earl of

Northumberland, and the young Prince Edward,

with soldiers

Come bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland—

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage!

I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

CLIFFORD

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,

With downright payment, showed unto my father.

Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,

And made an evening at the noontide prick.

YORK

My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

A bird that will revenge upon you all,

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not? What—multitudes, and fear?

CLIFFORD

So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons;

So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,

Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

YORK

O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

And in thy thought o’errun my former time,

And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

CLIFFORD

I will not bandy with thee word for word,

But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.

⌈He draws his sword⌉

QUEEN MARGARET

Hold, valiant Clifford: for a thousand causes

I would prolong a while the traitor’s life.

Wrath makes him deaf—speak thou, Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Hold, Clifford—do not honour him so much

To prick thy finger though to wound his heart.

What valour were it when a cur doth grin

For one to thrust his hand between his teeth

When he might spurn him with his foot away?

It is war’s prize to take all vantages,

And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

They ⌈fight and⌉ take York

CLIFFORD

Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

NORTHUMBERLAND

So doth the cony struggle in the net.

YORK

So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty,

So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatched.

NORTHUMBERLAND (to the Queen)

What would your grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET

Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here,

That wrought at mountains with outstretched arms

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.

(To York) What—was it you that would be England’s

king?

Was’t you that revelled in our Parliament,

And made a preachment of your high descent?

Where are your mess of sons to back you now?

The wanton Edward and the lusty George?

And where’s that valiant crookback prodigy,

Dickie, your boy, that with his grumbling voice

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or with the rest where is your darling Rutland?

Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood

That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point

Made issue from the bosom of thy boy.

And if thine eyes can water for his death,

I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

Alas, poor York, but that I hate thee deadly

I should lament thy miserable state.

I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.

What—hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails

That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death?

Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad,

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.

Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

Thou wouldst be fee’d, I see, to make me sport.

York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.

(To her men) A crown for York, and, lords, bow low to

him.

Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

She puts a paper crown on York’s head

Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king,

Ay, this is he that took King Henry’s chair,

And this is he was his adopted heir.

But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath?

As I bethink me, you should not be king

Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.

And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory,

And rob his temples of the diadem

Now, in his life, against your holy oath?

O ’tis a fault too, too, unpardonable.

Off with the crown,

⌈She knocks it from his head⌉

and with the crown his head,

And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

CLIFFORD

That is my office for my father’s sake.

QUEEN MARGARET

Nay, stay—let’s hear the orisons he makes.

YORK

She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,

Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth—

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex

To triumph like an Amazonian trull

Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!

But that thy face is visor-like, unchanging,

Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would essay, proud Queen, to make thee blush.

To tell thee whence thou cam’st, of whom derived,

Were shame enough to shame thee—wert thou not

shameless.

Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,

Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem—

Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?

It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud Queen,

Unless the adage must be verified

That beggars mounted run their horse to death.

’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud—

But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small;

‘Tis virtue that doth make them most admired—

The contrary doth make thee wondered at;

’Tis government that makes them seem divine—

The want thereof makes thee abominable.

Thou art as opposite to every good

As the antipodes are unto us,

Or as the south to the septentrion.

O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide!

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face?

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible—

Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

Bidd‘st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish.

Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will.

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,

And when the rage allays the rain begins.

These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies,

And every drop cries vengeance for his death

’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Beshrew me, but his passions move me so

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

YORK

That face of his the hungry cannibals

Would not have touched, would not have stained

with blood—

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania.

See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father’s tears.

This cloth thou dipped‘st in blood of my sweet boy,

And I with tears do wash the blood away.

Keep thou the napkin and go boast of this,

And if thou tell’st the heavy story right,

Upon my soul the hearers will shed tears,

Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears

And say, ‘Alas, it was a piteous deed’.

There, take the crown—and with the crown, my

curse:

And in thy need such comfort come to thee

As now I reap at thy too cruel hand.

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world.

My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

I should not, for my life, but weep with him,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

QUEEN MARGARET

What—weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all,

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

CLIFFORD

Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death. He stabs York

QUEEN MARGARET

And here’s to right our gentle-hearted King.

She stabs York

YORK

Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God—

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.

⌈He dies⌉

QUEEN MARGARET

Off with his head and set it on York gates,

So York may overlook the town of York.

Flourish. Exeunt with York’s body

2.1 A march. Enter Edward Earl of March and Richard, ⌈with a drummer and soldiers⌉

EDWARD

I wonder how our princely father scaped,

Or whether he be scaped away or no

From Clifford’s and Northumberland’s pursuit.

Had he been ta’en we should have heard the news;

Had he been slain we should have heard the news;

Or had he scaped, methinks we should have heard

The happy tidings of his good escape.

How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?

RICHARD

I cannot joy until I be resolved

Where-our right valiant father is become.

I saw him in the battle range about,

And watched him how he singled Clifford forth.

Methought he bore him in the thickest troop,

As doth a lion in a herd of neat;

Or as a bear encompassed round with dogs,

Who having pinched a few and made them cry,

The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.

So fared our father with his enemies;

So fled his enemies my warlike father.

Methinks ’tis prize enough to be his son.

⌈Three suns appear in the air⌉

See how the morning opes her golden gates

And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.

How well resembles it the prime of youth,

Trimmed like a younker prancing to his love!

EDWARD

Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

RICHARD

Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;

Not separated with the racking clouds,

But severed in a pale clear-shining sky.

⌈The three suns begin to join⌉

See, see—they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

As if they vowed some league inviolable.

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.

In this the heaven figures some event.

EDWARD

’Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

I think it cites us, brother, to the field,

That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

Each one already blazing by our meeds,

Should notwithstanding join our lights together

And over-shine the earth as this the world.

Whate’er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

Upon my target three fair-shining suns.

RICHARD

Nay, bear three daughters—by your leave I speak it—

You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter one blowing

But what art thou whose heavy looks foretell

Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

MESSENGER

Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on

Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain—

Your princely father and my loving lord.

EDWARD

O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.

RICHARD

Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

MESSENGER

Environèd he was with many foes,

And stood against them as the hope of Troy

Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

And many strokes, though with a little axe,

Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak.

By many hands your father was subdued,

But only slaughtered by the ireful arm

Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,

Who crowned the gracious Duke in high despite,

Laughed in his face, and when with grief he wept,

The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain;

And after many scorns, many foul taunts,

They took his head, and on the gates of York

They set the same; and there it doth remain,

The saddest spectacle that e’er I viewed.

EDWARD

Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.

O Clifford, boist’rous Clifford—thou hast slain

The flower of Europe for his chivalry,

And treacherously hast thou vanquished him—

For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee.

Now my soul’s palace is become a prison.

Ah, would she break from hence that this my body

Might in the ground be closed up in rest.

For never henceforth shall I joy again—

Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

RICHARD

I cannot weep, for all my body’s moisture

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;

Nor can my tongue unload my heart’s great burden,

For selfsame wind that I should speak withal

Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,

And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief;

Tears, then, for babes—blows and revenge for me!

Richard, I bear thy name; I’ll venge thy death

Or die renowned by attempting it.

EDWARD

His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee,

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

RICHARD

Nay, if thou be that princely eagle’s bird,

Show thy descent by gazing ‘gainst the sun:

For ‘chair and dukedom’, ‘throne and kingdom’ say—

Either that is thine or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter the Earl of Warwick and the Marquis of Montague ⌈with drummers, an ensign, and soldiers⌉

WARWICK

How now, fair lords? What fare? What news abroad?

RICHARD

Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news, and at each word’s deliverance

Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain.

EDWARD

O Warwick, Warwick! That Plantagenet,

Which held thee dearly as his soul’s redemption,

Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

WARWICK

Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears.

And now, to add more measure to your woes,

I come to tell you things sith then befall’n.

After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,

Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

I then in London, keeper of the King,

Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,

And, very well appointed as I thought,

Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,

Bearing the King in my behalf along—

For by my scouts I was advertised

That she was coming with a full intent

To dash our late decree in Parliament

Touching King Henry’s oath and your succession.

Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met,

Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought;

But whether ‘twas the coldness of the King,

Who looked full gently on his warlike queen,

That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen,

Or whether ’twas report of her success,

Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigour—

Who thunders to his captains blood and death—

I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

Our soldiers’, like the night-owl’s lazy flight,

Or like an idle thresher with a flail,

Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

I cheered them up with justice of our cause,

With promise of high pay, and great rewards.

But all in vain. They had no heart to fight,

And we in them no hope to win the day.

So that we fled—the King unto the Queen,

Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself

In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you.

For in the Marches here we heard you were,

Making another head to fight again.

EDWARD

Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK

Some six miles off the Duke is with his soldiers;

And for your brother—he was lately sent

From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

RICHARD

‘Twas odd belike when valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

But ne’er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK

Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear—

For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine

Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry’s head

And wring the aweful sceptre from his fist,

Were he as famous and as bold in war

As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.

RICHARD

I know it well, Lord Warwick—blame me not.

‘Tis love I bear thy glories make me speak.

But in this troublous time what’s to be done?

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

Numb’ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?

Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the last, say ‘ay’, and to it, lords.

WARWICK

Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,

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.

(To Edward) He swore consent to your succession,

His oath enrolled 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 and myself,

With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,

Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand,

Why, via, to London will we march,

And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

And once again cry ‘Charge upon. our foes—

But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD

Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.

Ne‘er may he live to see a sunshine day

That cries ‘retire if Warwick bid him stay.

EDWARD

Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,

And when thou fail’st—as God forbid the hour—

Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend I

WARWICK

No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;

The next degree is England’s royal throne—

For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed

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.

RICHARD

Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,

As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.

EDWARD

Then strike up drums—God and Saint George for us!

Enter a Messenger

WARWICK How now? What news?

MESSENGER

The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me

The Queen is coming with a puissant host,

And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK

Why then it sorts. Brave warriors, let’s away.

⌈March.⌉ Exeunt