Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed

Henry VI, Part 3 (Folio 1, 1623)


Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwicke.
War. Fore-spent with Toile, as Runners with a Race,
I lay me downe a little while to breath:
For strokes receiu'd, and many blowes repaid,
1060Haue robb'd my strong knit sinewes of their strength,
And spight of spight, needs must I rest a-while.
Enter Edward running.
Ed. Smile gentle heauen, or strike vngentle death,
For this world frownes, and Edwards Sunne is clowded.
1065 War. How now my Lord, what happe? what hope of
good?
Enter Clarence.
Cla. Our hap is losse, our hope but sad dispaire,
Our rankes are broke, and ruine followes vs.
1070What counsaile giue you? whether shall we flye?
Ed. Bootlesse is flight, they follow vs with Wings,
And weake we are, and cannot shun pursuite.
Enter Richard.
Rich. Ah Warwicke, why hast yu withdrawn thy selfe?
1075Thy Brothers blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the Steely point of Cliffords Launce:
And in the very pangs of death, he cryde,
Like to a dismall Clangor heard from farre,
Warwicke, reuenge; Brother, reuenge my death.
1080So vnderneath the belly of their Steeds,
That stain'd their Fetlockes in his smoaking blood,
The Noble Gentleman gaue vp the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
Ile kill my Horse, because I will not flye:
1085Why stand we like soft-hearted women heere,
Wayling our losses, whiles the Foe doth Rage,
And looke vpon, as if the Tragedie
Were plaid in iest, by counterfetting Actors.
Heere on my knee, I vow to God aboue,
1090Ile neuer pawse againe, neuer stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or Fortune giuen me measure of Reuenge.
Ed. Oh Warwicke, I do bend my knee with thine,
And in this vow do chaine my soule to thine:
1095And ere my knee rise from the Earths cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter vp, and plucker downe of Kings:
Beseeching thee (if with thy will it stands)
That to my Foes this body must be prey,
1100Yet that thy brazen gates of heauen may ope,
And giue sweet passage to my sinfull soule.
Now Lords, take leaue vntill we meete againe,
Where ere it be, in heauen, or in earth.
Rich. Brother,
1105Giue me thy hand, and gentle Warwicke,
Let me imbrace thee in my weary armes:
I that did neuer weepe, now melt with wo,
That Winter should cut off our Spring-time so.
War. Away, away:
1110Once more sweet Lords farwell.
Cla. Yet let vs altogether to our Troopes,
And giue them leaue to flye, that will not stay:
And call them Pillars that will stand to vs:
And if we thriue, promise them such rewards
1115As Victors weare at the Olympian Games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
For yet is hope of Life and Victory:
Foreslow no longer, make we hence amaine.
Exeunt