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  • Title: Henry VI, Part 3 (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    Not Peer Reviewed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 3 (Folio 1, 1623)

    The third Part of Henry the Sixt.171
    Rich. Why should shee liue, to fill the World with
    words.
    Edw. What? doth shee swowne? vse meanes for her
    3025recouerie.
    Rich. Clarence excuse me to the King my Brother:
    Ile hence to London on a serious matter,
    Ere ye come there, be sure to heare some newes.
    Cla. What? what?
    3030Rich. Tower, the Tower. Exit.
    Qu. Oh Ned, sweet Ned, speake to thy Mother Boy.
    Can'st thou not speake? O Traitors, Murtherers!
    They that stabb'd Caesar, shed no blood at all:
    Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame,
    3035If this foule deed were by, to equall it.
    He was a Man; this (in respect) a Childe,
    And Men, ne're spend their fury on a Childe.
    What's worse then Murtherer, that I may name it?
    No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speake,
    3040And I will speake, that so my heart may burst.
    Butchers and Villaines, bloudy Caniballes,
    How sweet a Plant haue you vntimely cropt:
    You haue no children (Butchers) if you had,
    The thought of them would haue stirr'd vp remorse,
    3045But if you euer chance to haue a Childe,
    Looke in his youth to haue him so cut off.
    As deathsmen you haue rid this sweet yong Prince.
    King. Away with her, go beare her hence perforce.
    Qu. Nay, neuer beare me hence, dispatch me heere:
    3050Here sheath thy Sword, Ile pardon thee my death:
    What? wilt thou not? Then Clarence do it thou.
    Cla. By heauen, I will not do thee so much ease.
    Qu. Good Clarence do: sweet Clarence do thou do it.
    Cla. Did'st thou not heare me sweare I would not do it?
    3055Qu. I, but thou vsest to forsweare thy selfe.
    'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity.
    What wilt yu not? Where is that diuels butcher Richard?
    Hard fauor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
    Thou art not heere; Murther is thy Almes-deed:
    3060Petitioners for Blood, thou ne're put'st backe.
    Ed. Away I say, I charge ye beare her hence,
    Qu. So come to you, and yours, as to this Prince.
    Exit Queene.
    Ed. Where's Richard gone.
    3065Cla. To London all in post, and as I guesse,
    To make a bloody Supper in the Tower.
    Ed. He's sodaine if a thing comes in his head.
    Now march we hence, discharge the common sort
    With Pay and Thankes, and let's away to London,
    3070And see our gentle Queene how well she fares,
    By this (I hope) she hath a Sonne for me. Exit.

    Enter Henry the sixt, and Richard, with the Lieutenant
    on the Walles.

    Rich. Good day, my Lord, what at your Booke so
    3075hard?
    Hen. I my good Lord: my Lord I should say rather,
    Tis sinne to flatter, Good was little better:
    'Good Gloster, and good Deuill, were alike,
    And both preposterous: therefore, not Good Lord.
    3080Rich. Sirra, leaue vs to our selues, we must conferre.
    Hen. So flies the wreaklesse shepherd from ye Wolfe:
    So first the harmlesse Sheepe doth yeeld his Fleece,
    And next his Throate, vnto the Butchers Knife.
    What Scene of death hath Rossius now to Acte?
    3085Rich. Suspition alwayes haunts the guilty minde,
    The Theefe doth feare each bush an Officer,
    Hen. The Bird that hath bin limed in a bush,
    With trembling wings misdoubteth euery bush;
    And I the haplesse Male to one sweet Bird,
    3090Haue now the fatall Obiect in my eye,
    Where my poore yong was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.
    Rich. Why what a peeuish Foole was that of Creet,
    That taught his Sonne the office of a Fowle,
    And yet for all his wings, the Foole was drown'd.
    3095Hen. I Dedalus, my poore Boy Icarus,
    Thy Father Minos, that deni'de our course,
    The Sunne that sear'd the wings of my sweet Boy.
    Thy Brother Edward, and thy Selfe, the Sea
    Whose enuious Gulfe did swallow vp his life:
    3100Ah, kill me with thy Weapon, not with words,
    My brest can better brooke thy Daggers point,
    Then can my eares that Tragicke History.
    But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my Life?
    Rich. Think'st thou I am an Executioner?
    3105Hen. A Persecutor I am sure thou art,
    If murthering Innocents be Executing,
    Why then thou art an Executioner.
    Rich. Thy Son I kill'd for his presumption.
    Hen. Hadst thou bin kill'd, when first yu didst presume,
    3110Thou had'st not liu'd to kill a Sonne of mine:
    And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand,
    Which now mistrust no parcell of my feare,
    And many an old mans sighe, and many a Widdowes,
    And many an Orphans water-standing-eye,
    3115Men for their Sonnes, Wiues for their Husbands,
    Orphans, for their Parents timeles death,
    Shall rue the houre that euer thou was't borne.
    The Owle shriek'd at thy birth, an euill signe,
    The Night-Crow cry'de, aboding lucklesse time,
    3120Dogs howl'd, and hiddeous Tempest shook down Trees:
    The Rauen rook'd her on the Chimnies top,
    And chatt'ring Pies in dismall Discords sung:
    Thy Mother felt more then a Mothers paine,
    And yet brought forth lesse then a Mothers hope,
    3125To wit, an indigested and deformed lumpe,
    Not like the fruit of such a goodly Tree.
    Teeth had'st thou in thy head, when thou was't borne,
    To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world:
    And if the rest be true, which I haue heard,
    3130Thou cam'st----
    Rich. Ile heare no more:
    Dye Prophet in thy speech, Stabbes him.
    For this (among'st the rest) was I ordain'd.
    Hen. I, and for much more slaughter after this,
    3135O God forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee. Dyes.
    Rich. What? will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
    Sinke in the ground? I thought it would haue mounted.
    See how my sword weepes for the poore Kings death.
    O may such purple teares be alway shed
    3140From those that wish the downfall of our house.
    If any sparke of Life be yet remaining,
    Downe, downe to hell, and say I sent thee thither.
    Stabs him againe.
    I that haue neyther pitty, loue, nor feare,
    3145Indeed 'tis true that Henrie told me of:
    For I haue often heard my Mother say,
    I came into the world with my Legges forward.
    Had I not reason (thinke ye) to make hast,
    And seeke their Ruine, that vsurp'd our Right?
    3150The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cri'de
    O Iesus blesse vs, he is borne with teeth,
    And
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