Henry VI, Part II, William Shakespeare [readict txt] 📗

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A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform’d.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

Cardinal

No more of him; for I will deal with him
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
And so break off; the day is almost spent:
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

York

My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers
For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.

Suffolk I’ll see it truly done, my Lord of York. Exeunt all but York. York

Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution:
Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain more busy than the labouring spider
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done,
To send me packing with an host of men:
I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; and yet be well assured
You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill’d porpentine;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair’d crafty kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And undiscover’d come to me again
And given me notice of their villanies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack’d and tortured,
I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
Say that he thrive, as ’tis great like he will,
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow’d;
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit.

Scene II

Bury St. Edmund’s. A room of state.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily. First Murderer

Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
We have dispatch’d the duke, as he commanded.

Second Murderer

O that it were to do! What have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter Suffolk. First Murderer Here comes my lord. Suffolk Now, sirs, have you dispatch’d this thing? First Murderer Ay, my good lord, he’s dead. Suffolk

Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand.
Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
According as I gave directions?

First Murderer ’Tis, my good lord. Suffolk Away! be gone. Exeunt Murderers. Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, with Attendants. King

Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
Say we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as ’tis published.

Suffolk I’ll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit. King

Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter ’gainst our uncle Gloucester
Than from true evidence of good esteem
He be approved in practice culpable.

Queen

God forbid any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

King I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much. Re-enter Suffolk.

How now! why look’st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what’s the matter, Suffolk?

Suffolk Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead. Queen Marry, God forfend! Cardinal

God’s secret judgment: I did dream to-night
The duke was dumb and could not speak a word. The King swoons.

Queen How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead. Somerset Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. Queen Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes! Suffolk He doth revive again: madam, be patient. King O heavenly God! Queen How fares my gracious lord? Suffolk Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort! King

What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven’s note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar’d words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
In life but double death, now Gloucester’s dead.

Queen

Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the duke was enemy to him,
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:
And for myself, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends:
It may be judged I made the duke away;
So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded,
And princes’ courts be