Henry VI, Part III William Shakespeare (books to read to get smarter .TXT) đ
- Author: William Shakespeare
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Marchâd toward Saint Albanâs 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 Henryâs oath and your succession.
Short tale to make, we at Saint Albanâs met
Our battles joinâd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But whether âtwas the coldness of the king,
Who lookâd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robbâd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
Or whether âtwas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Cliffordâs rigour,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiersâ, like the night-owlâs lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheerâd 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?
Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
âTwas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But neâer till now his scandal of retire.
Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henryâs head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
Were he as famous and as bold in war
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.
I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:
âTis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
But in this troublous time whatâs to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numbering 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.
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 moe proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
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 amain,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry âCharge upon our foes!â
But never once again turn back and fly.
Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:
Neâer may he live to see a sunshine day,
That cries âRetire,â if Warwick bid him stay.
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
And when thou failâstâ âas God forbid the hour!â â
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!
No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
The next degree is Englandâs royal throne;
For King of England shalt thou be proclaimâd
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.
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.
The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
Before York.
Flourish. Enter King, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Whales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with drum and trumpets. Queen MargaretWelcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonderâs the head of that arch-enemy
That sought to be encompassâd with your crown:
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
Withhold revenge, dear God! âtis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.
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 âscapes the lurking serpentâs 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 doth 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 manâs 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 climbâd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their youngâs defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his fatherâs fault,
And long hereafter say unto his child,
âWhat my great-grandfather and his grandsire got
My careless father
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