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  • Title: Henry VI, Part 2 (Folio 1, 1623)

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
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    Henry VI, Part 2 (Folio 1, 1623)

    The second Part of Henry the Sixt.133
    Yorke. My Lord of Suffolke, within foureteene dayes
    At Bristow I expect my Souldiers,
    For there Ile shippe them all for Ireland.
    1635Suff. Ile see it truly done, my Lord of Yorke. Exeunt.
    Manet Yorke.
    Yorke. Now Yorke, or neuer, steele thy fearfull thoughts,
    And change misdoubt to resolution;
    Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art;
    1640Resigne to death, it is not worth th' enioying:
    Let pale-fac't feare keepe with the meane-borne man,
    And finde no harbor in a Royall heart.
    Faster thẽ Spring-time showres, comes thoght on thoght,
    And not a thought, but thinkes on Dignitie.
    1645My Brayne, more busie then the laboring Spider,
    Weaues tedious Snares to trap mine Enemies.
    Well Nobles, well: 'tis politikely done,
    To send me packing with an Hoast of men:
    I feare me, you but warme the starued Snake,
    1650Who cherisht in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
    'Twas men I lackt, and you will giue them me;
    I take it kindly: yet be well assur'd,
    You put sharpe Weapons in a mad-mans hands.
    Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mightie Band,
    1655I will stirre vp in England some black Storme,
    Shall blowe ten thousand Soules to Heauen, or Hell:
    And this fell Tempest shall not cease to rage,
    Vntill the Golden Circuit on my Head,
    Like to the glorious Sunnes transparant Beames,
    1660Doe calme the furie of this mad-bred Flawe.
    And for a minister of my intent,
    I haue seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman,
    Iohn Cade of Ashford,
    To make Commotion, as full well he can,
    1665Vnder the Title of Iohn Mortimer.
    In Ireland haue I seene this stubborne Cade
    Oppose himselfe against a Troupe of Kernes,
    And fought so long, till that his thighes with Darts
    Were almost like a sharpe-quill'd Porpentine:
    1670And in the end being rescued, I haue seene
    Him capre vpright, like a wilde Morisco,
    Shaking the bloody Darts, as he his Bells.
    Full often, like a shag-hayr'd craftie Kerne,
    Hath he conuersed with the Enemie,
    1675And vndiscouer'd, come to me againe,
    And giuen me notice of their Villanies.
    This Deuill here shall be my substitute;
    For that Iohn Mortimer, which now is dead,
    In face, in gate, in speech he doth resemble.
    1680By this, I shall perceiue the Commons minde,
    How they affect the House and Clayme of Yorke.
    Say he be taken, rackt, and tortured;
    I know, no paine they can inflict vpon him,
    Will make him say, I mou'd him to those Armes.
    1685Say that he thriue, as 'tis great like he will,
    Why then from Ireland come I with my strength,
    And reape the Haruest which that Rascall sow'd.
    For Humfrey; being dead, as he shall be,
    And Henry put apart: the next for me. Exit.

    1690Enter two or three running ouer the Stage, from the
    Murther of Duke Humfrey.
    1. Runne to my Lord of Suffolke: let him know
    We haue dispatcht the Duke, as he commanded.
    2. Oh, that it were to doe: what haue we done?
    1695Didst euer heare a man so penitent? Enter Suffolke.
    1. Here comes my Lord.
    Suff. Now Sirs, haue you dispatcht this thing?
    1. I, my good Lord, hee's dead.
    Suff. Why that's well said. Goe, get you to my House,
    1700I will reward you for this venturous deed:
    The King and all the Peeres are here at hand.
    Haue you layd faire the Bed? Is all things well,
    According as I gaue directions?
    1. 'Tis, my good Lord.
    1705Suff. Away, be gone. Exeunt.

    Sound Trumpets. Enter the King, the Queene,
    Cardinall, Suffolke, Somerset, with
    King. Goe call our Vnckle to our presence straight:
    1710Say, we intend to try his Grace to day,
    If he be guiltie, as 'tis published.
    Suff. Ile call him presently, my Noble Lord. Exit.
    King. Lords take your places: and I pray you all
    Proceed no straiter 'gainst our Vnckle Gloster,
    1715Then from true euidence, of good esteeme,
    He be approu'd in practise culpable.
    Queene. God forbid any Malice should preuayle,
    That faultlesse may condemne a Noble man:
    Pray God he may acquit him of suspition.
    1720King. I thanke thee Nell, these wordes content mee
    Enter Suffolke.
    How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
    Where is our Vnckle? what's the matter, Suffolke?
    1725Suff. Dead in his Bed, my Lord: Gloster is dead.
    Queene. Marry God forfend.
    Card. Gods secret Iudgement: I did dreame to Night,
    The Duke was dumbe, and could not speake a word.
    King sounds.
    1730Qu. How fares my Lord? Helpe Lords, the King is
    Som. Rere vp his Body, wring him by the Nose.
    Qu. Runne, goe, helpe, helpe: Oh Henry ope thine eyes.
    Suff. He doth reuiue againe, Madame be patient.
    1735King. Oh Heauenly God.
    Qu. How fares my gracious Lord?
    Suff. Comfort my Soueraigne, gracious Henry com-
    King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolke comfort me?
    1740Came he right now to sing a Rauens Note,
    Whose dismall tune bereft my Vitall powres:
    And thinkes he, that the chirping of a Wren,
    By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
    Can chase away the first-conceiued sound?
    1745Hide not thy poyson with such sugred words,
    Lay not thy hands on me: forbeare I say,
    Their touch affrights me as a Serpents sting.
    Thou balefull Messenger, out of my sight:
    Vpon thy eye-balls, murderous Tyrannie
    1750Sits in grim Maiestie, to fright the World.
    Looke not vpon me, for thine eyes are wounding;
    Yet doe not goe away: come Basiliske,
    And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight:
    For in the shade of death, I shall finde ioy;
    1755In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead.
    Queene. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolke thus?
    Although the Duke was enemie to him,
    Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:
    And for my selfe, Foe as he was to me,
    1760Might liquid teares, or heart-offending groanes,
    Or blood-consuming sighes recall his Life;
    n3 I