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

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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2.2 ⌈York’s head is thrust out, above⌉ Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Lord Clifford, the Earl of Northumberland, and young Prince Edward, with a drummer and trumpeters

QUEEN MARGARET

Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy

That sought to be encompassed with your crown.

Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY

Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck.

To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

Withhold revenge, dear God—’tis not my fault,

Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

CLIFFORD

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.

Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

Not his that spoils her young before her face.

Who scapes the lurking serpent’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 sire;

Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,

Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

Which argued thee a most unloving father.

Unreasonable creatures feed their young,

And though 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 sometime they have used with fearful flight,

Make war with him that climbed unto their nest,

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 birthright 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 were 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.

KING HENRY

Full well hath Clifford played the orator,

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

Whose 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 thousandfold 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 MARGARET

My lord, cheer up your spirits—our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood to our forward son.

Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.

Edward, kneel down.

Prince Edward kneels

KING HENRY

Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight—

And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE EDWARD (rising)

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.

CLIFFORD

Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER

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.

CLIFFORD (to King Henry)

I would your highness would depart the field—

The Queen hath best success when you are absent.

QUEEN MARGARET (to King Henry)

Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

KING HENRY

Why, that’s my fortune too—therefore I’ll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Be it with resolution then to fight.

PRINCE EDWARD (to King Henry)

My royal father, cheer these noble lords

And hearten those that fight in your defence.

Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ‘Saint George!’

March. Enter Edward Duke of York, the Earl of

Warwick, Richard, George, the Duke of Norfolk, the

Marquis of Montague, and soldiers

EDWARD

Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,

And set thy diadem upon my head—

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET

Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms

Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD

I am his king, and he should bow his knee.

I was adopted heir by his consent.

GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

Since when his oath is broke—for, as I hear,

You that are king, though he do wear the crown,

Have caused him by new act of Parliament

To blot our brother out, and put his own son in.

CLIFFORD And reason too—

Who should succeed the father but the son?

RICHARD

Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

CLIFFORD

Ay, crookback, here I stand to answer thee,

Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD

’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD

Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD

For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK

What sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET

Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you

speak?

When you and I met at Saint Albans last,

Your legs did better service than your hands.

WARWICK

Then ‘twas my turn to fly—and now ‘tis thine.

CLIFFORD

You said so much before, and yet you fled.

WARWICK

’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

NORTHUMBERLAND

No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD

Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

Break off the parley, for scarce I can refrain

The execution of my big-swoll’n heart

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

CLIFFORD

I slew thy father—call’st thou him a child?

RICHARD

Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,

As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland.

But ere sun set I’ll make thee curse the deed.

KING HENRY

Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET

Defy them, then, or else hold close thy lips.

KING HENRY

I prithee give no limits to my tongue—

I am a king, and privileged to speak.

CLIFFORD

My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here

Cannot be cured by words—therefore be still.

RICHARD

Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.

By him that made us all, I am resolved

That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.

EDWARD

Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no?

A thousand men have broke their fasts today

That ne’er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

WARWICK (to King Henry)

If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

For York in justice puts his armour on.

PRINCE EDWARD

If that be right which Warwick says is right,

There is no wrong, but everything is right.

RICHARD

Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands—

For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother’s tongue.

QUEEN MARGARET

But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,

But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

Marked by the destinies to be avoided,

As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.

RICHARD

Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,

Whose father bears the title of a king—

As if a channel should be called the sea—

Sham’st thou not, knowing whence thou art

extraught,

To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

EDWARD

A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns

To make this shameless callet know herself.

Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged

By that false woman, as this king by thee.

His father revelled in the heart of France,

And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;

And had he matched according to his state,

He might have kept that glory to this day.

But when he took a beggar to his bed,

And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day,

Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him

That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France,

And heaped sedition on his crown at home.

For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride?

Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept,

And we, in pity of the gentle King,

Had slipped our claim until another age.

GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,

We set the axe to thy usurping root.

And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,

Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,

We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down,

Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

EDWARD (to Queen Margaret)

And in this resolution I defy thee,

Not willing any longer conference

Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.

Sound trumpets—let our bloody colours wave!

And either victory, or else a grave!

QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward.

EDWARD

No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay—

These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

⌈Flourish. March. Exeunt Edward and his men at one door and Queen Margaret and her men at another door⌉

2.3 Alarum. Excursions. Enter the Earl of Warwick

WARWICK

Forespent with toil, as runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe;

For strokes received, and many blows repaid,

Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.

Enter Edward, the Duke of York, running

EDWARD

Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death!

For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.

WARWICK

How now, my lord, what hap? What hope of good?

Enter George, ⌈running⌉

GEORGE

Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;

Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.

What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?

EDWARD

Bootless is flight—they follow us with wings,

And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter Richard, ⌈running⌉

RICHARD

Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

Broached with the steely point of Clifford’s lance.

And in the very pangs of death he cried,

Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,

‘Warwick, revenge—brother, revenge my death!’

So, underneath the belly of their steeds

That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood,

The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

WARWICK

Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.

I’ll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,

Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;

And look upon, as if the tragedy

Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors?

(Kneeling) Here, on my knee, I vow to God above

I’ll never pause again, never stand still,

Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine

Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

EDWARD (kneeling)

O, Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,

And in this vow do chain my soul to thine.

And, ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face,

I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee,

Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,

Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands

That to my foes this body must be prey,

Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.

⌈They rise⌉

Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,

Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth.

ICHARD

Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.

I, that did never weep, now melt with woe

That winter should cut off our springtime so.

WARWICK

Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

GEORGE

Yet let us all together to our troops,

And give them leave to fly that will not stay;

And call them pillars that will stand to us;

And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards

As victors wear at the Olympian games.

This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,

For yet is hope of life and victory.

Forslow no longer—make we hence amain. Exeunt

2.4 ⌈Alarums.⌉ Excursions. Enter Richard ⌈at one door⌉ and Lord Clifford ⌈at the other⌉

RICHARD

Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.

Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,

And this for Rutland, both bound to revenge,

Wert thou environed with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD

Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.

This is the hand that stabbed thy father York,

And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland,

And here’s the heart that triumphs in their death

And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother

To execute the like upon thyself—

And so, have at thee!

They fight. The Earl of Warwick comes and rescues Richard. Lord Clifford flies

RICHARD

Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase—

For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt

2.5 Alarum. Enter King Henry

KING HENRY

This battle fares like to the morning’s war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light,

What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

Now sways it this way like a mighty sea

Forced by the tide to combat with the wind,

Now sways it that way like the selfsame sea

Forced to retire by fury of the wind.

Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;

Now one the better, then another best—

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.

So is the equal poise of this fell war.

Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

To whom God will, there be the victory.

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford, too,

Have chid me from the battle, swearing both

They prosper best of all when I am thence.

Would I were dead, if God’s good will were so—

For what is in this world but grief and woe?

O God! Methinks it were a happy life

To be no better than a homely swain.

To sit upon a hill, as I do now;

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

Thereby to see the minutes how they run:

How many makes the hour full complete,

How many hours brings about the day,

How many days will finish up the year,

How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known, then to divide the times:

So many hours must I tend my flock,

So many hours must I take my rest,

So many hours must I contemplate,

So many hours must I sport myself,

So many days my ewes have been with young,

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece.

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,

Passed over to the end they were created,

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! How sweet! How lovely!

Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade

To shepherds looking on their seely sheep

Than doth a rich embroidered canopy

To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery?

O yes, it doth—a thousandfold it doth.

And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds,

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince’s delicates,

His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

Alarum. Enter ⌈at one door⌉ a Soldier with a dead man in his arms. King Henry stands apart

SOLDIER

Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.

This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,

May be possessed with some store of crowns;

And I, that haply take them from him now,

May yet ere night yield both my life and them

To some man else, as this dead man doth me.

⌈He removes the dead man’s helmet⌉

Who’s this? O God! It is my father’s face

Whom in this conflict I, unwares, have killed.

O, heavy times, begetting such events!

From London by the King was I pressed forth;

My father, being the Earl of Warwick’s man,

Came on the part of York, pressed by his master;

And I, who at his hands received my life,

Have by my hands of life bereaved him.

Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did;

And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks,

And no more words till they have flowed their fill.

He weeps

KING HENRY

O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!

Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,

Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

Weep, wretched man, I’ll aid thee tear for tear;

And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,

Be blind with tears, and break, o’ercharged with grief.

Enter ⌈at another door⌉ another Soldier with a dead man ⌈in his arms⌉

SECOND SOLDIER

Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,

Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold—

For I have bought it with an hundred blows.

⌈He removes the dead man’s helmet⌉

But let me see: is this our foeman’s face?

Ah, no, no, no—it is mine only son!

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eye! (Weeping) See, see, what showers

arise,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,

Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!

O, pity, God, this miserable age!

What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,

Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!

O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

KING HENRY

Woe above woe! Grief more than common grief!

O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!

O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face,

The fatal colours of our striving houses;

The one his purple blood right well resembles,

The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish—

If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

FIRST SOLDIER

How will my mother for a father’s death

Take on with me, and ne’er be satisfied!

SECOND SOLDIER

How will my wife for slaughter of my son

Shed seas of tears, and ne’er be satisfied!

KING HENRY

How will the country for these woeful chances

Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!

FIRST SOLDIER

Was ever son so rued a father’s death?

SECOND SOLDIER

Was ever father so bemoaned his son?

KING HENRY

Was ever king so grieved for subjects’ woe?

Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much.

FIRST SOLDIER (to his father’s body)

I’ll bear thee hence where I may weep my fill.

Exit ⌈at one door⌉ with the body of his father

SECOND SOLDIER (to his son’s body)

These arms of mine shall be thy winding sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,

For from my heart thine image ne‘er shall go.

My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell,

And so obsequious will thy father be,

E’en for the loss of thee, having no more,

As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I’ll bear thee hence, and let them fight that will—

For I have murdered where I should not kill.

Exit ⌈at another door⌉ with the body of his son

KING HENRY

Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,

Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter Prince Edward

PRINCE EDWARD

Fly, father, fly—for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull!

Away—for death doth hold us in pursuit!

⌈Enter Queen Margaret⌉

QUEEN MARGARET

Mount you, my lord—towards Berwick post amain.

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds

Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,

And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands,

Are at our backs—and therefore hence amain.

⌈Enter Exeter⌉

EXETER

Away—for vengeance comes along with them!

Nay—stay not to expostulate—make speed—

Or else come after. I’ll away before.

KING HENRY

Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go

Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away. Exeunt

2.6 A loud alarum. Enter Lord Clifford, wounded ⌈with an arrow in his neck⌉

CLIFFORD

Here burns my candle out—ay, here it dies,

Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.

O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow

More than my body’s parting with my soul!

My love and fear glued many friends to thee—

And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,

Impairing Henry, strength’ning misproud York.

The common people swarm like summer flies,

And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?

And who shines now but Henry’s enemies?

O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent

That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,

Thy burning car never had scorched the earth!

And, Henry, hadst thou swayed as kings should do,

Or as thy father and his father did,

Giving no ground unto the house of York,

They never then had sprung like summer flies;

I and ten thousand in this luckless realm

Had left no mourning widows for our death;

And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.

For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?

And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity?

Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;

No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight;

The foe is merciless and will not pity,

For at their hands I have deserved no pity.

The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.

Come York and Richard, Warwick and the rest—

I stabbed your fathers’ bosoms; split my breast.

⌈He faints.⌉

Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward Duke of York,

his brothers George and Richard, the Earl of

Warwick, ⌈the Marquis of Montague,⌉ and soldiers

EDWARD

Now breathe we, lords—good fortune bids us pause,

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.

Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen,

That led calm Henry, though he were a king,

As doth a sail filled with a fretting gust

Command an argosy to stem the waves.

But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

WARWICK

No—‘tis impossible he should escape;

For, though before his face I speak the words,

Your brother Richard marked him for the grave.

And whereso’er he is, he’s surely dead.

Clifford groans

⌈EDWARD⌉

Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

⌈RICHARD⌉

A deadly groan, like life and death’s departing.

⌈EDWARD⌉ ⌈to Richard⌉

See who it is.

⌈Richard goes to Clifford⌉

And now the battle’s ended,

If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

RICHARD

Revoke that doom of mercy, for ‘tis Clifford;

Who not contented that he lopped the branch

In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,

But set his murd’ring knife unto the root

From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring—

I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

WARWICK

From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father’s head, which Clifford placed there.

Instead whereof let this supply the room—

Measure for measure must be answerèd.

EDWARD

Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

That nothing sung but death to us and ours.

⌈Clifford is dragged forward⌉

Now death shall stop his dismal threat’ning sound

And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

WARWICK

I think his understanding is bereft.

Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?

Dark cloudy death o’ershades his beams of life,

And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.

RICHARD

O, would he did—and so perhaps he doth.

’Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts

Which in the time of death he gave our father.

GEORGE

If so thou think’st, vex him with eager words.

RICHARD

Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

EDWARD

Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

WARWICK

Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

GEORGE

While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

RICHARD

Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

EDWARD

Thou pitied’st Rutland—I will pity thee.

GEORGE

Where’s Captain Margaret to fence you now?

WARWICK

They mock thee, Clifford—swear as thou wast wont.

RICHARD

What, not an oath? Nay, then, the world goes hard

When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.

I know by that he’s dead—and, by my soul,

If this right hand would buy but two hours’ life

That I, in all despite, might rail at him,

This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing

blood

Stifle the villain whose unstanchèd thirst

York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

WARWICK

Ay, but he’s dead. Off with the traitor’s head,

And rear it in the place your father’s stands.

And now to London with triumphant march,

There to be crowned England’s royal king;

From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,

And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together.

And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread

The scattered foe that hopes to rise again,

For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,

Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.

First will I see the coronation,

And then to Brittany I’ll cross the sea

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

EDWARD

Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be.

For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,

And never will I undertake the thing

Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.

Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,

And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself,

Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

RICHARD

Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester—

For Gloucester’s dukedom is too ominous.

WARWICK

Tut, that’s a foolish observation—

Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London

To see these honours in possession.

Exeunt. ⌈York’s head is removed⌉