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  • Title: Henry VI, Part 3 (Octavo 1, 1595)

  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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 (Octavo 1, 1595)

    Alarme still, and then enter Henry solus.
    1135Hen. Oh gratious God of heauen looke downe on vs,
    And set some endes to these incessant griefes,
    How like a mastlesse ship vpon the seas,
    This woful battaile doth continue still,
    Now leaning this way, now to that side driue,
    1140And none doth know to whom the daie will fall.
    O would my death might staie these ciuilliars!
    Would I had neuer raind, nor nere bin king,
    Margret and Clifford, chide me from the fielde,
    Swearing they had best successe when I was thence.
    1145Would God that I were dead so all were well,
    Or would my crowne suffice, I were content
    To yeeld it them and liue a priuate life.
    Enter a souldier with a dead man in his armes.
    Sould Il blowes the wind that profits no bodie,
    This man that I haue slaine in fight to daie,
    Maie be possessed of some store of crownes,
    1195And I will search to find them if I can,
    But stay. Me thinkes it is my fathers face,
    1200Oh I tis he whom I haue slaine in fight,
    From London was I prest out by the king,
    My father he came on the part of Yorke,
    And in this conflict I haue slaine my father:
    Oh pardon God, I knew not what I did,
    And pardon father, for I knew thee not.
    Enter another souldier with a dead man.
    2. Sould.
    Yorke, and Henrie the Sixt.
    2. Soul. Lie there thou that foughtst with me so stoutly,
    Now let me see what store of gold thou haste,
    But staie, me thinkes this is no famous face:
    Oh no it is my sonne that I haue slaine in fight,
    O monstrous times begetting such euents,
    How cruel bloudy, and ironious,
    This deadlie quarrell dailie doth beget,
    Poore boy thy father gaue thee lif too late,
    1230And hath bereau'de thee of thy life too sone.
    King Wo aboue wo, griefe more then common griefe,
    Whilst Lyons warre and battaile for their dens,
    Poore lambs do feele the rigor of their wraths:
    1235The red rose and the white are on his face,
    The fatall colours of our striuing houses,
    Wither one rose, and let the other flourish,
    1240For if you striue, ten thousand liues must perish.
    1. Sould. How will my mother for my fathers death,
    Take on with me and nere be satisfide?
    2. Sol. How will my wife for slaughter of my son,
    Take on with me and nere be satisfide?
    1245King. How will the people now misdeeme their king,
    Oh would my death their mindes could satisfie.
    1. Sould. Was euer son so rude his fathers bloud to spil?
    2, Soul. Was euer father so vnnaturall his son to kill?
    King. Was euer king thus greeud and vexed still?
    1. Sould. Ile beare thee hence from this accursed place,
    For wo is me to see my fathers face.
    Exit with his father.
    2. Soul. Ile beare thee hence & let them fight that wil,
    1255For I haue murdered where I should not kill.
    1260Exit with his sonne.
    C3. King.
    The Tragedie of Richard D. of
    K Hen. Weepe wretched man, Ile lay thee teare for tear,
    Here sits a king as woe begone as thee.
    Alarmes and enter the Queene.
    Queen. Awaie my Lord to Barwicke presentlie,
    The daie is lost, our friends are murdered,
    No hope is left for vs, therefore awaie.
    Enter prince Edward.
    1265Prince. Oh father flie, our men haue left the field,
    Take horse sweet father, let vs saue our selues.
    Enter Exeter.
    1275Exet. Awaie my Lord for vengance comes along with(him:
    Nay stand not to expostulate make hast,
    Or else come after, Ile awaie before.
    K Hen. Naie staie good Exeter, for Ile along with thee.