.. know us by these colours for thy foes.
This pale and angry rose...
As symbol white of my blood-drinking hate.
Welcome, Queen Margaret.
My King.
Civil dissension is a viperous worm,
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
I am far better born than is the King,
That gold should round engirt these brows of mine.
Call forth our troops and bid them arm themselves!
We shall return to wear our crown.
Boys!
Edward. George.
And... Richard!
My Lord! Your Highness...
The Duke of York with Warwick has set out
And with a puissant and a mighty power
Is marching hitherward in proud array.
They will be here by morning.
Where is the Queen?
She's with the Duke of Somerset within.
O...
.. could this kiss be printed in thy hand.
A wilderness is populous enough,
If I but had thy heavenly company.
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
And where thou art not, desolation.
Yield or die, Somerset.
Father!
Base Suffolk!
Warwick calls!
Suffolk, I say, come forth and fight with me!
Suffolk!
For one or both of us the time is come.
Hold, Warwick, seek you out some other chase,
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
Come, Suffolk. Defend thy rose!
I know thee, Somerset.
Obscure and lowly swain, away.
The honourable blood of Lancaster
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Thou kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt
Trouble the silver spring where England drinks.
Thy lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground
For now the House of York Burns with revenging fire.
It is impossible that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.
Ay, but my deeds shall stay thy fury soon.
What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?
True nobility is exempt from fear.
Come, show what cruelty thou can'st,
That this my death may never be forgot.
Father!
Where's my father?
Suffolk!
Where's the Duke of Suffolk?
Father!
O, let the vile world end
And the promised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together!
Even at this sight
My heart is turned to stone.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity.
In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Somerset!
Think, Margaret, on revenge and cease to weep.
But who can cease to weep and look on this?
My hope is gone.
Alas, my Queen.
I fear me, love, if that I were dead
Thou wouldst not mourn so much for me.
Margaret...
God, our hope, will succour us.
Come, we must away from here.
We shall to London get, where you are loved
And where this breach now in our fortunes made
May readily be stopped.
Now, by my sword, thou hast fought well today.
So have we all.
There is one old supporter of the King
Is either slain or wounded dangerously.
That this is true, father, behold his blood.
Why, that's my son!
Did anyone see or hear The fate of Somerset,
The foulest canker of the blood-red rose?
My Lord of York, here is the Duke of Somerset,
Who I encountered ere the battle joined.
Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.
What? Is Your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head!
If it be true the King has fled to London,
We will pursue him there.
Sound drum and trumpets, and to London all,
And more such days as these to us befall!
Richard!
Son!
Richard!
This is the palace of the fearful King,
And this the regal seat.
Possess it, York,
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'.
Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will.
We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.
Thanks, gentle Vernon.
Stay by me, then, my Lords.
And when the King comes, offer him no violence,
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.
The Queen this day here holds her parliament,
But little thinks we shall be of her council.
By words and blows here let us claim our right.
The "Bloody Parliament" shall it be called,
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King,
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
Hath made us bywords to our enemies.
Then leave me not, my Lords, be resolute.
I mean to take possession of my right.
Neither the King
nor he that loves him best
Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells.
And I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.
My son!
York and Warwick are here...
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.
Look where the sturdy rebel stands.
What, shall we suffer this?
Let's pluck him down.
My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it!
Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmorland.
My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament
Let us assail the family of York.
Far be the thought of it from Henry's heart
To make a shambles of the Parliament-House.
Know you not the city favours them,
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?
But when the Duke is slain, they will quickly fly.
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
Thou, factious Duke of York, descend my throne
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet.
I am thy sovereign.
I am thine.
For shame, come down.
He made thee Duke of York.
It was my inheritance, as the earldom was.
Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown,
In following this usurping Henry.
Whom should he follow but his natural King?
True, Clifford, and that's Richard, Duke of York.
And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?
It must and shall be so.
Content thyself.
Be Duke of Lancaster.
let him be King.
He is both King and Duke of Lancaster,
And that the Lord of Westmorland shall maintain.
And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
That we are those which chased you from the field
And who slew your father, youthful Clifford.
Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief.
Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
Will we show you our title to the crown?
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York.
I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
And seized upon their towns and provinces.
Talk not of France, since thou hast lost it all.
The Lord Protector lost it, and not I.
When I was crowned I was but nine months old.
You are old enough now and yet methinks you lose.
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head!
Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.
Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly!
Sons, peace.
Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
No, first shall war unpeople this my realm.
My title's good, and better far than his.
Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King.
Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.
'Twas by rebellion against his King.
Richard resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth,
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
He rose against him and made him to resign the crown perforce.
Suppose he did it unconstrained,
Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?
No, for he could not so resign his crown,
But that the next heir should succeed and reign.
Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?
My conscience tells me he is lawful King.
All will revolt from me and turn to him.
What mutter you, or what conspire you, Lords?
Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And over the chair of state, where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping blood.
My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:
Let me for this my lifetime reign as King.
Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.
I am content.
Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
What wrong is this unto the Prince, your son!
Base, fearful and despairing Henry!
How hast thou injured both thyself and us?
I cannot stay to hear these articles.
Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news.
Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate King,
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.
Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.
Ah, Exeter.
Why should you sigh, my Lord?
Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son
Whom I unnaturally now disinherit. But be it as it may. I here entail
The crown to thee and to thine heirs forever,
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
To honour me as thy King and sovereign.
This oath I willingly take and will perform.
Long live King Henry!
Long live King Henry.
And long live thou, and these thy forward sons.
Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.
Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes.
Come, boys.
Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid
And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father.
Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,
Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
Or nourished him as I did with my blood,
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
Rather than have that savage Duke thine heir
And disinherited thine only son.
Pardon me, Margaret;
The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.
Enforced thee?
Art thou King, and wilt be forced?
I shame to hear thee speak.
Ah, timorous wretch.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou prefer'st thy life to thine honour.
And seeing thou dost,
I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed till
That act of Parliament be repealed
Whereby my son is disinherited.
The Lords that have forsworn thy coward colours
Will follow mine, to thy foul disgrace
And utter ruin of the House of York.
Thus do I leave thee.
Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
Thou hast spoke too much already.
Though I be not the eldest, give me leave.
No. I can better play the orator!
But I have reasons strong and forcible!
Why! How now, sons?
At a strife?
What is thy quarrel?
How began it first?
No quarrel,
but a slight contention.
About what?
The crown of England, Father, which is yours.
Mine, boy?
Not till King Henry be dead.
Your right depends not on his life or death.
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.
I took an oath...
.. that he should quietly reign.
But for a kingdom any oath may be broken.
I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
No. God forbid your grace should be forsworn.
So I shall, if I claim by open war.
I will prove the opposite, if you will hear me speak.
Thou canst not, son. It is impossible.
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 his place.
Then, since 'twas he that made you to depose, your oath,
My Lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms.
Father, do but think how sweet a thing it is to wear a crown.
Why do we linger thus?
I will not rest until the white rose I wear is dyed
- Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart... - Richard!
Enough!
- My Lord! - We shall speak more of this.
The Queen with all the northern earls and lords
Intends here to besiege you in your house.
She is hard by, my Lord.
Edward and George, you both shall stay with me.
Richard and Edmund, with thy mother fly.
Father, we will win them. Fear it not.
Plantagenet!
Come, son! Edmund!
Go, Richard! Look to thy mother.
Let's issue forth and bid them battle straight.
Plantagenet!
Go to thy sister's house.
Do not look back. Edmund and Richard will follow thee.
Come, Richard! Edmond!
Plantagenet!
- Go, Mother! - Clifford approaches! Go!
Stay here, my Lords. Conceal thyselves awhile.
- [Plantagenet!] - Edmond! Richard!
Go, Mother, we will follow!
Plantagenet!
Thou brat of this accursed Duke of York,
Whose father slew my father, thou shall die.
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.
Thou speak'st in vain, poor boy;
My father's blood
hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
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...
Let me pray,
let me pray before I take my death.
To thee I pray.
Sweet Clifford, pity me!
Pity?
Thy father slew my father.
Therefore, die.
Plantagenet, I come!
Plantagenet!
Come,
rough Westmorland.
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage.
I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee
blows twice two for one.
Hold!
Valiant Clifford!
For a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
Come,
make him kneel upon this dung hill here.
What...
what...
was it you that would be England's King?
Where is your mess of sons to back you now?
Where is your darling Edmund?
A crown for York.
Look, York,
I stain this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his weapon's spike
Made issue from the neck of the young boy.
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Why art thou patient, man?
Thou shouldst be mad.
York cannot speak without a crown.
Hold you his hands,
whilst I do set it on.
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.
O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable.
Off with the crown, and with the crown, his head!
That is my office, for my father's sake.
Nay, stay,
let's hear the orisons he makes.
She-wolf of France,
O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide.
There, take thy crown,
and with thy crown my curse
That in thy need such comfort come to thee
As I now reap from thy too cruel hand.
Hard-hearted Clifford,
take me from the world,
My soul to heaven,
my curse upon your heads!
Here's for my father's death!
And here's to right our gentle-hearted King!
Here's to avenge beloved Somerset.
Off with his head.
Set it atop the city gates.
I wonder how our princely father scaped.
His sword.
See how the morning ope's her golden gates
Bids her farewell to the glorious sun.
Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Three glorious suns...
.. each one a perfect sun,
Not separated by the racking clouds
But severed in a pale, clear-shining sky.
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 heavens figure some event.
I think it cites us, brother...
.. to the field,
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Shall join our lights together
And over-shine the earth as this the world.
But here comes one whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on his tongue.
My Lord,
I was a woeful looker-on
When as the noble Duke of York was slain.
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 Edmund,
by rough Clifford slain.
After many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head...
.. and high on the city gates they set the same.
And there it doth remain.
The saddest spectacle that e'er I viewed.
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.
Now my soul's palace is become a prison.
For never henceforth shall I joy again.
Never...
.. O never shall I see more joy!
I cannot weep.
Weeping is for babes...
.. blows and revenge for me.
Richard, I bear thy name;
and I will venge thy death or die by attempting it.
His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
His dukedom and his chair with ME is left.
For the chair and dukedom...
.. throne and kingdom say;
Either they are thine,
or else thou wert not his.
How now, fair Lords?
Thou shalt know
this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head
Were he as famous and as bold in war
As he is famed for mildness, peace and prayer.
But in this troublous time, what's to be done?
Shall we go throw our coats of steel away?
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,
Now, friends, to London will we march,
And once again cry, "Charge!" upon our foes.
Lord Warwick,
on thy shoulder will I lean;
And when thou fail'st,
God forbid the hour,
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!
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.
King Edward!
Welcome, my Lords.
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?
To see this sight
it irks my very soul.
Withhold revenge, dear God.
My gracious liege,
this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
He, but a duke, would have his son a king.
Thou, being a king,
blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Were it not pity
that this godly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault?
Look on the boy
and steel thy melting heart.
Clifford,
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.
Ah,
cousin York,
would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve me that thou art thus slain.
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.
Edward...
.. Ned...
Prince of Wales...
.. arise a knight,
And learn this lesson:
draw thy sword in right.
My gracious father,
by your kingly leave
I will defend our crown unto the death.
My liege...
Royal commanders, be in readiness,
For with a band of strongly armed men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,
Now Edward, made so by his father's death.
They all proclaim him King.
Prepare your battle, for they are at hand.
I would Your Highness would keep from the field.
The Queen hath best success when you are absent.
Ay, good, my Lord, and leave us to our fortune.
Why, that's my fortune too...
.. therefore, I'll come.
Be it with resolution, then, to fight.
'Was ever King that joyed an earthly throne
'And could command no more content than I?
'No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
'But I was made a king,
'at nine months old.
'Was never subject longed to be a king
'As I do long and wish to be a subject.'
Are you there, butcher?
Ay, crookback,
here I stand to answer thee.
'Twas you that killed my brother,
was it not? Ay,
This is the hand that stabbed thy father York,
And here
is the hand that slew thy brother Edmund,
And this is the heart
that triumphs in their death.
Speak not spite,
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ tonight.
Foul stigmatic,
that's more than thou canst tell.
If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
Have at thee!
O, I fall.
Come, Richard...
.. I stabbed your father's bosom,
Now split my breast.
Dispatch me, Richard,
Have mercy...
.. and dispatch.
Disperse me, Richard -- have mercy!
Richard!
O...
.. O Henry...
.. hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death.
The foe is merciless
and will not pity.
Much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Dispatch, Henry.
Dispatch...
This man, like me, a humble foot soldier
Now killed by me, will have no use for coins.
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
Where are your crowns, old man?
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold,
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
Who's this?
O God!
It is my father's face.
Heavy times, begetting such events!
That I...
.. who at his hands received my life,
Have by MY hands of life bereaved him.
Oh, no.
No, no...
It is my eldest son.
Pardon me, God...
.. I knew not what I did;
And pardon, father...
.. for I knew not thee.
O, pity, God, this miserable age!
O pity...
.. pity...
.. gentle heaven, pity!
I'll bear thee hence...
.. where I may weep my fill.
I'll bear thee hence...
.. and let them fight that will.
Would that I were dead...
.. if God's good will were so.
For what is in this world
but grief and woe?
Away, madam, away,
the King is missing.
York triumphs and wallows in our spilt blood. Away!
All hail King Edward.
Now breathe we, Lords...
.. good fortune bids us pause
And smoothes the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Whose soul is that who takes her heavy leave?
And now the battle's ended, If friend or foe,
let him be gently used.
Revoke that doom of mercy...
.. for 'tis Clifford.
From off the city gates fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let HIS supply the room:
Measure for measure
must be answered.
Lift up that fatal screech-owl to our house
That nothing sung but death to us and ours.
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.
Clifford,
ask mercy and obtain no grace.
What, not an oath?
Nay, then the world goes hard when Clifford cannot spare
an oath for his friends,
I know by that he's dead.
Off with the traitor's head,
Then to the palace
with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal King.
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat.
Richard,
I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
George, of Clarence.
Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.
Now...
.. even of pure love,
I greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry...
.. Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is filled,
thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm washed off wherewith thou wast anointed.
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee.
For how can I help them...
.. and not myself?
Let me embrace thee, sour adversaries
For wise men say it is the wisest course!
This is the former King; let's seize upon him.
Forbear awhile.
O God!
Methinks it were a happy life, to be no better than a homely swain,
Thereby
to see the minutes how they run,
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring 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 days my ewes have been with young,
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece.
So, minutes,
hours,
days, 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 silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
To kings that...
that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes, it doth...
.. a thousandfold it doth.
Say...
.. what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?
More than I seem,
and less than I was born to:
For men may talk of kings, and why not I?
Ay...
.. but thou talk'st as if thou WERT a king.
Why, so I am,
in mind, and that's enough.
If thou be a king,
where is thy crown?
My crown is in my heart...
.. not on my head: Nor to be seen.
My crown is called content,
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Well, if thou be a king crowned with content
You must be contented
To go along with us.
God save King Edward, fourth of that name!
God save the King!
What is Your Lordship's business in France?
To make the French King's sister Edward's queen.
So shalt he sinew both these lands together
And, having France our friend, we shall not dread
The scattered foe that hopes to rise again.
Thus Margaret used her state and birth
To gain sanctuary for her and her son
At the very heart of Louis' court.
King Louis cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have him buzz to offend thine ears.
He is a prince soon won with moving words.
King Louis hath been tainted with remorse
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears,
Queen Margaret is a subtle orator.
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn.
Thou speaks't truth.
Farewell, my Lord.
Lord Hastings... farewell.
Good King of England, at Edgecote field
This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
His lands then seized on by Lancastrians,
Her suit is now to repossess those lands.
Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit,
It were dishonour to deny it her.
Ugh! Well, widow, we will consider of your suit
And come some other time to know our mind.
Right gracious Lord, I cannot brook delay.
May it please Your Highness to resolve me now
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.
I see the lady hath a thing to grant
Before the King will grant her humble suit.
How many children hast thou, widow, tell me?
One son, my gracious Lord.
'Twere pity he should lose his father's lands.
Be pitiful, dread Lord, and grant it then.
Lords, give us leave.
Now, tell me, madam...
.. do you love your son?
Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
And would you not do much to do him good?
To do him good, I would sustain some harm.
Then get your husband's lands to do him good.
Therefore I came unto Your Majesty.
What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?
What you command that rests in me to do.
But you will take exceptions to my boon.
No, gracious Lord, except I cannot do it.
Ay, but thou canst do what I do mean to ask.
Well, then, I will do what Your Grace commands.
What stops my Lord, shall I not hear my task?
An easy task -- 'tis but to love a king.
That's soon performed, because I am a subject.
No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.
Well, then, you mean not as I thought you did.
To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
To tell YOU plain, I had rather lie in prison.
Why then, thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.
Well, then, mine honesty shall be my dower,
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
Therein thou wrong'st thy child mightily.
Herein Your Highness wrongs both him and me
In thy suggestion I become thy whore.
You do mistake my meaning, lady.
Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?
His queen, my Lord?
Sweet widow...
.. by my state, I swear to thee,
I mean no more than what my soul intends...
And that is to enjoy thee for my love.
And that is more than I will yield unto.
List to me, widow...
I did mean my queen.
Welcome, brave Warwick!
What brings thee to France?
From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
I come in kindness and unfeigned love,
First, to crave a league of amity
And then to confirm that friendship with a nuptial knot,
if thou vouchsafe to grant that virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's King in lawful marriage.
King Louis and Lady Bona, hear me speak
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant, honest love,
But from... deceit...
.. bred by necessity,
For how can tyrants safely govern home,
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
- Injurious, Margaret... - And why not "queen"?
Because thy father Henry did usurp
And she is no more queen than thou art a prince.
Why, Warwick, canst thou speak 'gainst thy true King
And not betray thy treason with a blush?
For shame, Oxford, Leave Henry and call Edward King.
No, Warwick, no,
While life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the House of Lancaster.
And I the House of York!
Now, Warwick,
Tell me, even upon thy conscience, Is Edward your true King?
For I were loath
To link with him that were not lawful chosen.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.
Our sister shall be Edward's.
Ah!
Until today, Louis WAS Henry's friend.
And still is friend to him and Margaret.
And shall you have all kindness at my hand
That your estate requires and mine can yield.
Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.
My Lord of Warwick, this letter is for you, sent from your brother.
This, from our King unto Your Highness.
And Margaret
This for you, from whom I know not.
Has your King married the Lady Grey?
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?
King Louis, I here protest, in sight of heaven
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's.
No more my King, for he dishonours me
But most himself if he could see his shame.
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from his native right?
And am rewarded at the last with shame?
Shame on himself, for my desert is honour!
I here renounce him...
.. and return to Henry.
My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor.
I will revenge this wrong to Lady Bona
And replant Henry in his former state.
Warwick...
These words have turned my hate to love...
.. and I forgive and quite forget old faults,
And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.
So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That if King Louis will vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land them on our coast
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged
But by thy help to this distressed Queen?
You shall have aid.
Let me give humble thanks for all at once.
Then, England's messenger, return in post,
And tell false Edward
Thy supposed King,
That Louis of France is sending over masquers
To revel it with him and his new bride.
Tell him
I am ready to put armour on.
Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
Therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
Warwick, answer me one doubt.
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?
This assures my constant loyalty.
That, if our Queen and this young Prince agree...
I'll join mine youngest daughter, Lady Anne
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.
Yes...
I agree.
And thank you for your motion.
Son Edward...
Yes. I accept.
Now here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance
For mocking marriage with a dame of France!
Good shot, sire! Well played.
- Aah! - Ooh!
Again.
Oh!
Well done.
Now, brother of Clarence,
how like you our choice of wife?
I am your King and I must have my will.
And shall have your will, because our King.
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?
Not I, no.
God forbid that I should wish them severed,
Whom God hath joined together!
Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
Give me some reason why thou disapproves
Of Elizabeth as my wife and England's Queen.
Speak freely what you think.
Then, to have joined with France in sound alliance
By marrying the proud King Louis' sister
Would more have strengthened this, our commonwealth,
Than any home-bred marriage.
Ay, what of that?
It was my will and grant,
And for this once, my will shall stand for law.
And yet methinks Your Grace hath not done well
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
Unto the brother of your loving bride.
She better would have suited me than Rivers.
Alas poor Clarence
Is it for a wife that thou art malcontent?
Well, I will provide thee.
And in choosing for yourself you've shown your judgment,
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave
To play the broker in mine own behalf.
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.
Leave me, or tarry,
Edward will be King and not be tied unto his brother's will.
My Lord, their dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.
My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns.
What danger or what sorrow can befall you
So long as Edward is thy constant friend
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
And they shall obey, and love thee too
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands.
My liege!
What letters or what news from France Good Hastings?
And what answer makes King Louis unto our letters?
"Go tell false Edward, thy supposed King,
"That Louis of France is sending over masquers
"To revel it with him and his new bride."
Is Louis so brave?
But what said Henry's Queen?
For I am sure that she was there in place.
"Tell him," quoth she, "I am ready to put armour on."
Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?
He, more incensed against Your Majesty than all the rest,
Sent to my liege these words,
"Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
"And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long."
Ha!
Durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarned.
They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?
Ay.
Gracious sovereign, they are so linked in friendship
That the young prince will marry Warwick's daughter, Anne.
Now, brother King, farewell, and sit you fast,
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter,
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
May I not prove inferior to yourself.
My brother flies to Warwick?
Yet, am I arm'd against the worst can happen,
And haste is needful in this desp'rate case.
They are already, or quickly will be, landed.
I need to levy men and make for war.
But ere I go, brother Richard...
Tell me if YOU love Warwick more than me.
If it be so, then go, depart to him.
I rather wish for foes than hollow friends.
Will you stand by us?
Yay.
And in despite of those that shall withstand you.
Trust me, my Lord, all hitherto goes well.
Ah...
The common people, by numbers, swarm to us.
And see where Clarence waits.
Speak suddenly, my Lord, are we all friends?
Fear not that, my Lord.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick.
I hold it cowardice
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love,
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.
But welcome, George.
My younger daughter shall be thine.
My Lord!
Open the gate!
Open the gate for Lord Warwick!
Father.
Good Warwick.
After God, thou set'st me free.
He was the author, thou the instrument.
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite
And that the people of this blessed land
May not be punished by my thwarting stars,
Warwick...
.. although my head still wear the crown,
I here resign my government to thee,
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.
And I choose only Clarence for Protector.
Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands.
Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
That no dissension hinder government.
I make you both protectors of this land,
While I myself will lead a private life here
And spend my latter days in devotion,
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
To Henry's body, and supply his place.
Then for the first of all your chief affairs
Let me entreat, for I command no more,
That Margaret, your Queen
Be sent for, to return from France with speed.
It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.
And Exeter, what youth is that,
Of whom you seem to have so tender care?
My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.
After yourself and your young son the Prince,
He is the last descendent of old John of Gaunt.
He is the House of Lancaster.
Come hither, England's hope.
If secret powers
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
Make much of him, Lords.
Come, sit by me.
What counsel, Lords?
Let's levy men, meet Edward in the field.
Farewell, sweet Lords, let's meet at Tewkesbury.
Of this young Richmond,
Forthwith I'll take him hence to Brittany,
Till storms be past of civil enmity.
It shall be so.
Halt!
We have come to parley with Warwick.
See where the surly Warwick sits.
O, unbid spite, is sportful Edward come?
Now, Warwick, wilt thou, as is thy duty,
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee
Call me thy King and at my hands beg mercy?
Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick patron and be penitent
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.
Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?
I will do thee service for so good a gift.
'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.
Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.
Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down.
Kneel down!
Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.
I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail.
And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along,
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love!
Come, Clarence, come.
Thou wilt, if Warwick call.
Brother?
Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.
I will not ruinate my father's house,
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
And set up Lancaster.
I am so sorry for my trespass made
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe.
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends.
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
Welcome, good Clarence,
this is brother-like.
O passing traitor, perjured and unjust.
What, Warwick, wilt thou leave thy tent and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?
Alas, I am not cooped here for defence.
I will unto the field presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.
Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
Come, Lords, to the field,
Saint George, and victory!
Forward!
Charge!
Argh!
Charge!
It grieves me to see thee once more a traitor, Clarence.
Come!
Why dost thou pause?
With thy brave bearing should I be in love, Exeter
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
But that its shows ignobly and in treason.
Ugh!
War hath given thee peace, now thou art still.
Peace to his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!
'Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge.
'Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood.
'Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
'And, live we how we can, yet die we must.'
Warwick...
Ah, Warwick...
Warwick, wert thou as we are
We might recover all our loss again.
Look to my daughter, Oxford, look to Anne
And keep her safe.
I bid you farewell
to meet in heaven...
Ha! Victory for York!
Take her!
Hang the traitor.
Go, send him hence, I will not hear him speak.
Come on.
God save King Henry! God save Queen Margaret!
So part we sadly in this troublous world
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem!
Lo where youthful Prince Ned comes.
Ned!
Bring forth the gallant,
Let us hear him speak.
What? Can so young a thorn begin to prick?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
For all the trouble thou hast turned me to?
Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth.
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, traitor.
By heaven, wretch, we'll plague thee for that word!
Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.
Untutored lad, thou art impudent.
I know my duty, you are all undutiful.
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George.
And thou, misshapen Dick.
Ned!
I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are,
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
Take that!
Sprawl'st thou?
Take this, to end thy agony.
Kill me too!
Marry, and shall.
Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done too much.
Why should she live, to fill the world with words?
Excuse me to the King my brother,
I'll hence to London on a serious matter.
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
What?
The Tower. The Tower.
Away with her. I charge ye, bear her hence.
Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here.
Here!
Away with her and waft her hence to France.
Where's Richard gone?
To London all in haste and as I guess
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Victory for York and victory for Edward
Now Duke of York, soon to be a king.
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring
To cross me from the golden time I look for.
I do but dream on sovereignty...
Like one that stands upon a promontory
And spies a far-off shore
So do I wish for the crown,
being so far off.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard,
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O!
O miserable thought,
and more unlikely
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, Love forswore me in my mother's womb,
And did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,
To shrink mine arm up like a withered shrub,
To place an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body,
To shape my legs of an unequal size,
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a CHAOS!
And am I then a man to be beloved?
O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, since the earth affords no joy to me,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
And, whiles I live, account this world but hell.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand between me and home,
And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,
Seeking a way and straying from the way,
Torment myself to catch the English crown.
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile,
and murder whiles I smile,
And cry "content!" to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
Good day, my Lord.
What, at your book so hard?
Sirrah, leave us to ourselves.
We must confer.
So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf.
What scene of death hath we two now to act?
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind,
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
Ah, kill me with thy weapons, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dids't thou come?
Is't for my life?
Think'st thou I am an executioner?
A persecutor I am sure, thou art,
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why then, thou art an executioner.
Thy son I killed for his presumption.
Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy -- that many a thousand,
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,
Orphans for their parents' timeless deaths,
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign,
Dogs howled, and hideous tempest shook down trees.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou camest to bite the world.
And, if the rest be true which I have...
I'll hear no more! Die, prophet in thy speech!
For this amongst the rest, was I ordained.
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O God, forgive my sins,
And pardon thee.
See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death!
O may such purple tears be always shed
From them that wish the downfall of our house.
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither,
I that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of,
For often have I heard my mother say
I came into this world with my legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so...
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother,
I am like no brother.
And this word "love",
which gray-beards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another
And not in me.
I am myself alone.
'Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
'Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
'Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
'And made our footstool of security.'
Listen to me!
I am the Queen!
I am the QUEEN!
'Prince Edward, for thee, thine uncles and myself
'Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,
'That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace,
'And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.'
Clarence and Gloucester,
Kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Thanks, noble Clarence.
Worthy brother, thanks.
And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
To say the truth, Judas kissed his master
And cried "All hail!" when as he meant all harm.
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.
Sound drums and trumpets! Hail the House of York!
For here I hope begins our lasting joy.
Long live Prince Edward!