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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
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Henry VI, Part 2 (Folio 1, 1623)

    The second Part of Henry the Sixt.145
    3155If you oppose your selues to match Lord Warwicke.
    Clif. Hence heape of wrath, foule indigested lumpe,
    As crooked in thy manners, as thy shape.
    Yor. Nay we shall heate you thorowly anon.
    Clif. Take heede least by your heate you burne your
    3160selues:
    King. Why Warwicke, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
    Old Salsbury, shame to thy siluer haire,
    Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sicke sonne,
    What wilt thou on thy death-bed play the Ruffian?
    3165And seeke for sorrow with thy Spectacles?
    Oh where is Faith? Oh, where is Loyalty?
    If it be banisht from the frostie head,
    Where shall it finde a harbour in the earth?
    Wilt thou go digge a graue to finde out Warre,
    3170And shame thine honourable Age with blood?
    Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
    Or wherefore doest abuse it, if thou hast it?
    For shame in dutie bend thy knee to me,
    That bowes vnto the graue with mickle age.
    3175Sal. My Lord, I haue considered with my selfe
    The Title of this most renowned Duke,
    And in my conscience, do repute his grace
    The rightfull heyre to Englands Royall seate.
    King. Hast thou not sworne Allegeance vnto me?
    3180Sal. I haue.
    Ki. Canst thou dispense with heauen for such an oath?
    Sal. It is great sinne, to sweare vnto a sinne:
    But greater sinne to keepe a sinfull oath:
    Who can be bound by any solemne Vow
    3185To do a murd'rous deede, to rob a man,
    To force a spotlesse Virgins Chastitie,
    To reaue the Orphan of his Patrimonie,
    To wring the Widdow from her custom'd right,
    And haue no other reason for this wrong,
    3190But that he was bound by a solemne Oath?
    Qu. A subtle Traitor needs no Sophister.
    King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arme himselfe.
    Yorke. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
    I am resolu'd for death and dignitie.
    3195Old Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreames proue true
    War. You were best to go to bed, and dreame againe,
    To keepe thee from the Tempest of the field.
    Old Clif. I am resolu'd to beare a greater storme,
    Then any thou canst coniure vp to day:
    3200And that Ile write vpon thy Burgonet,
    Might I but know thee by thy housed Badge.
    War. Now by my Fathers badge, old Neuils Crest,
    The rampant Beare chain'd to the ragged staffe,
    This day Ile weare aloft my Burgonet,
    3205As on a Mountaine top, the Cedar shewes,
    That keepes his leaues inspight of any storme,
    Euen io affright thee with the view thereof.
    Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet Ile rend thy Beare,
    And tread it vnder foot with all contempt,
    3210Despight the Bearard, that protects the Beare.
    Yo.Clif. And so to Armes victorious Father,
    To quell the Rebels, and their Complices.
    Rich. Fie, Charitie for shame, speake not in spight,
    For you shall sup with Iesu Christ to night.
    3215Yo.Clif. Foule stygmaticke that's more then thou
    canst tell.
    Ric. If not in heauen, you'l surely sup in hell. Exeunt
    Enter Warwicke.
    War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwicke calles:
    3220And if thou dost not hide thee from the Beare,
    Now when the angrie Trumpet sounds alarum,
    And dead mens cries do fill the emptie ayre,
    Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me,
    Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
    3225Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to armes.
    Enter Yorke.
    War. How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot.
    Yor. The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed:
    But match to match I haue encountred him,
    3230And made a prey for Carrion Kytes and Crowes
    Euen of the bonnie beast he loued so well.
    Enter Clifford.
    War. Of one or both of vs the time is come.
    Yor. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chace
    3235For I my selfe must hunt this Deere to death.
    War. Then nobly Yorke, 'tis for a Crown thou fightst:
    As I intend Clifford to thriue to day,
    It greeues my soule to leaue theee vnassail'd. Exit War.
    Clif. What seest thou in me Yorke?
    3240Why dost thou pause?
    Yorke. With thy braue bearing should I be in loue,
    But that thou art so fast mine enemie.
    Clif. Nor should thy prowesse want praise & esteeme,
    But that 'tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason.
    3245Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword,
    As I in iustice, and true right expresse it.
    Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both.
    Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly.
    Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes.
    3250Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for yu art still,
    Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will.
    Enter yong Clifford.
    Clif. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout,
    Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds
    3255Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell,
    Whom angry heauens do make their minister,
    Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part,
    Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye.
    He that is truly dedicate to Warre,
    3260Hath no selfe-loue: nor he that loues himselfe,
    Hath not essentially, but by circumstance
    The name of Valour. O let the vile world end,
    And the premised Flames of the Last day,
    Knit earth and heauen together.
    3265Now let the generall Trumpet blow his blast,
    Particularities, and pettie sounds
    To cease. Was't thou ordain'd (deere Father)
    To loose thy youth in peace, and to atcheeue
    The Siluer Liuery of aduised Age,
    3270And in thy Reuerence, and thy Chaire-dayes, thus
    To die in Ruffian battell? Euen at this sight,
    My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
    It shall be stony. Yorke, not our old men spares:
    No more will I their Babes, Teares Virginall,
    3275Shall be to me, euen as the Dew to Fire,
    And Beautie, that the Tyrant oft reclaimes,
    Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oyle and Flax:
    Henceforth, I will not haue to do with pitty.
    Meet I an infant of the house of Yorke,
    3280Into as many gobbits will I cut it
    As wilde Medea yong Absirtis did.
    In cruelty, will I seeke out my Fame.
    Come thou new ruine of olde Cliffords house:
    As did Aeneas old Anchyses beare,
    3285So beare I thee vpon my manly shoulders:
    But then, Aeneas bare a liuing loade;
    o3 Nothing
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