The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: p3r - Histories, p. 157

Left Column


The third Part of King Henry the Sixt. Mis‑thinke the King, and not be satisfied? Son. Was euer sonne, so rew'd a Fathers death? Fath.
[1165]
Was euer Father so bemoan'd his Sonne?
Hen. Was euer King so greeu'd for Subiects woe? Much is your sorrow; Mine, ten times so much. Son. Ile beare thee hence, where I may weepe my fill. Fath. These armes of mine shall be thy winding sheet:
[1170]
My heart (sweet Boy) shall be thy Sepulcher, For from my heart, thine Image ne're shall go. My sighing brest, shall be thy Funerall bell; And so obsequious will thy Father be, Men for the losse of thee, hauing no more,
[1175]
As Priam was for all his Valiant Sonnes, Ile beare thee hence, and let them fight that will, For I haue murthered where I should not kill.
Exit Hen. Sad‑hearted‑men, much ouergone with Care; Heere sits a King, more wofull then you are. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, the Prince, and Exeter. Prin.
[1180]
Fly Father, flye: for all your Friends are fled. And Warwicke rages like a chafed Bull: Away, for death doth hold vs in pursuite.
Qu. Mount you my Lord, towards Barwicke post a­ maine: Edward and Richard like a brace of Grey‑hounds,
[1185]
Hauing the fearfull flying Hare in sight, With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steele graspt in their yrefull hands Are at our backes, and therefore hence amaine.
Exet. Away: for vengeance comes along with them.
[1190]
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed, Or else come after, Ile away before.
Hen. Nay take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I feare to stay, but loue to go Whether the Queene intends. Forward, away. Exeunt
[Act 2, Scene 6] A lowd alarum. Enter Clifford Wounded. Clif.
[1195]
Heare burnes my Candle out; I, heere it dies, Which whiles it lasted, gaue King Henry light. O Lancaster! I feare thy ouerthrow, More then my Bodies parting with my Soule: My Loue and Feare, glew'd many Friends to thee,
[1200]
And now I fall. Thy tough Commixtures melts, Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud Yorke; And whether flye the Gnats, but to the Sunne? And who shines now, but Henries Enemies? O Phœbus! had'st thou neuer giuen consent,
[1205]
That Phaeton should checke thy fiery Steeds, Thy burning Carre neuer had scorch'd the earth. And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as Kings should do, Or as thy Father, and his Father did, Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke,
[1210]
They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes: I, and ten thousand in this lucklesse Realme, Hed left no mourning Widdowes for our death, And thou this day, had'st kept thy Chaire in peace. For what doth cherrish Weeds, but gentle ayre?
[1215]
And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity ? Bootlesse are Plaints, and Curelesse are my Wounds: No way to flye, nor strength to hold out flight: The Foe is mercilesse, and will not pitty: For at their hands I haue deseru'd no pitty.
[1220]
The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds,

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[full image]

Right Column


And much effule of blood, doth make me faint: Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwicke, and the rest, I stab'd your Fathers bosomes; Split my brest. Alarum & Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, and Soldiers, Montague, & Clarence. Ed. Now breath we Lords, good fortune bids vs pause,
[1225]
And smooth the frownes of War, with peacefull lookes: Some Troopes pursue the bloody‑minded Queene, That led calme Henry, though he were a King, As doth a Saile, fill'd with a fretting Gust Command an Argosie to stemme the Waues.
[1230]
But thinke you (Lords) that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: (For though before his face I speake the words) Your Brother Richard markt him for the Graue, And wheresoere he is, hee's surely dead. Clifford grones Rich.
[1235]
Whose soule is that which takes hir heauy leaue? A deadly grone, like life and deaths departing. See who it is.
Ed. And now the Battailes ended, If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed. Rich.
[1240]
Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis Clifford, Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch In hewing Rutland, when his leaues put forth, But set his murth'ring knife vnto the Roote, From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
[1245]
I meane our Princely Father, Duke of Yorke.
War. From off the gates of Yorke, fetch down the head, Your Fathers head, which Ciifford placed there: In stead whereof, let this supply the roome, Measure for measure, must be answered. Ed.
[1250]
Bring forth that fatall Schreechowle to our house, That nothing sung but death, to vs and ours: Now death shall stop his dismall threatning sound, And his ill‑boading tongue, no more shall speake.
War. I thinke is vnderstanding is bereft:
[1255]
Speake Clifford, dost thou know who speakes to thee? Darke cloudy death ore‑shades his beames of life, And he nor sees, nor heares vs, what we say.
Rich. O would he did, and so (perhaps) he doth, 'Tis but his policy to counterfet,
[1260]
Because he would auoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gaue our Father.
Cla If so thou think'st, Vex him with eager Words. Rich. Clifford, aske mercy, and obtaine no grace. Ed.
[1265]
Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence.
War. Clifford, deuise excuses for thy faults. Cla. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults. Rich. Thou didd'st loue Yorke, and I am son to Yorke. Edw. Thou pittied'st Rutland, I will pitty thee. Cla.
[1270]
Where's Captaine Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mocke thee Clifford, Sweare as thou was't wont. Ric. What, not an Oath? Nay then the world go's hard When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an oath:
[1275]
I know by that he's dead, and by my Soule, If this right hand would buy two houres life, That I (in all despight) might rayle at him, This hand should chop it off: & with the issuing Blood Stifle the Villaine, whose vnstanched thirst
[1280]
Yorke, and yong Rutland could not satisfie
War. I, but he's dead. Of with the Traitors head, And reare it in the place your Fathers stands. And now to London with Triumphant march, p3 There

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[Act 2, Scene 6] A lowd alarum. Enter Clifford Wounded. Clif.
[1195]
Heare burnes my Candle out; I, heere it dies, Which whiles it lasted, gaue King Henry light. O Lancaster! I feare thy ouerthrow, More then my Bodies parting with my Soule: My Loue and Feare, glew'd many Friends to thee,
[1200]
And now I fall. Thy tough Commixtures melts, Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud Yorke; And whether flye the Gnats, but to the Sunne? And who shines now, but Henries Enemies? O Phœbus! had'st thou neuer giuen consent,
[1205]
That Phaeton should checke thy fiery Steeds, Thy burning Carre neuer had scorch'd the earth. And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as Kings should do, Or as thy Father, and his Father did, Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke,
[1210]
They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes: I, and ten thousand in this lucklesse Realme, Hed left no mourning Widdowes for our death, And thou this day, had'st kept thy Chaire in peace. For what doth cherrish Weeds, but gentle ayre?
[1215]
And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity ? Bootlesse are Plaints, and Curelesse are my Wounds: No way to flye, nor strength to hold out flight: The Foe is mercilesse, and will not pitty: For at their hands I haue deseru'd no pitty.
[1220]
The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds, And much effule of blood, doth make me faint: Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwicke, and the rest, I stab'd your Fathers bosomes; Split my brest.
Alarum & Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, and Soldiers, Montague, & Clarence. Ed. Now breath we Lords, good fortune bids vs pause,
[1225]
And smooth the frownes of War, with peacefull lookes: Some Troopes pursue the bloody‑minded Queene, That led calme Henry, though he were a King, As doth a Saile, fill'd with a fretting Gust Command an Argosie to stemme the Waues.
[1230]
But thinke you (Lords) that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: (For though before his face I speake the words) Your Brother Richard markt him for the Graue, And wheresoere he is, hee's surely dead. Clifford grones Rich.
[1235]
Whose soule is that which takes hir heauy leaue? A deadly grone, like life and deaths departing. See who it is.
Ed. And now the Battailes ended, If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed. Rich.
[1240]
Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis Clifford, Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch In hewing Rutland, when his leaues put forth, But set his murth'ring knife vnto the Roote, From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
[1245]
I meane our Princely Father, Duke of Yorke.
War. From off the gates of Yorke, fetch down the head, Your Fathers head, which Ciifford placed there: In stead whereof, let this supply the roome, Measure for measure, must be answered. Ed.
[1250]
Bring forth that fatall Schreechowle to our house, That nothing sung but death, to vs and ours: Now death shall stop his dismall threatning sound, And his ill‑boading tongue, no more shall speake.
War. I thinke is vnderstanding is bereft:
[1255]
Speake Clifford, dost thou know who speakes to thee? Darke cloudy death ore‑shades his beames of life, And he nor sees, nor heares vs, what we say.
Rich. O would he did, and so (perhaps) he doth, 'Tis but his policy to counterfet,
[1260]
Because he would auoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gaue our Father.
Cla If so thou think'st, Vex him with eager Words. Rich. Clifford, aske mercy, and obtaine no grace. Ed.
[1265]
Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence.
War. Clifford, deuise excuses for thy faults. Cla. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults. Rich. Thou didd'st loue Yorke, and I am son to Yorke. Edw. Thou pittied'st Rutland, I will pitty thee. Cla.
[1270]
Where's Captaine Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mocke thee Clifford, Sweare as thou was't wont. Ric. What, not an Oath? Nay then the world go's hard When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an oath:
[1275]
I know by that he's dead, and by my Soule, If this right hand would buy two houres life, That I (in all despight) might rayle at him, This hand should chop it off: & with the issuing Blood Stifle the Villaine, whose vnstanched thirst
[1280]
Yorke, and yong Rutland could not satisfie
War. I, but he's dead. Of with the Traitors head, And reare it in the place your Fathers stands. And now to London with Triumphant march, There to be crowned Englands Royall King:
[1285]
From whence, shall Warwicke cut the Sea to France, And aske the Ladie Bona for thy Queene: So shalt thou sinow both these Lands together, And hauing France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread The scattred Foe, that hopes to rise againe:
[1290]
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet looke to haue them buz to offend thine eares: First, will I see the Coronation, And then to Britanny Ile crosse the Sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my Lord.
Ed.
[1295]
Euen as thou wilt sweet Warwicke, let it bee: For in thy shoulder do I builde my Seate; And neuer will I vndertake the thing Wherein thy counsaile and consent is wanting: Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
[1300]
And George of Clarence; Warwicke as our Selfe, Shall do, and vndo as him pleaseth best.
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Glosters Dukedome is too ominous. War. Tut, that's a foolish obseruation:
[1305]
Richard, be Duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these Honors in possession.
Exeunt
 

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<div type="scene" n="6" rend="notPresent">
   <head type="supplied">[Act 2, Scene 6]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="mixed ">A lowd alarum. Enter Clifford Wounded.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-cli">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clif.</speaker>
      <l n="1195">Heare burnes my Candle out; I, heere it dies,</l>
      <l n="1196">Which whiles it lasted, gaue King<hi rend="italic">Henry</hi>light.</l>
      <l n="1197">O Lancaster! I feare thy ouerthrow,</l>
      <l n="1198">More then my Bodies parting with my Soule:</l>
      <l n="1199">My Loue and Feare, glew'd many Friends to thee,</l>
      <l n="1200">And now I fall. Thy tough Commixtures melts,</l>
      <l n="1201">Impairing<hi rend="italic">Henry</hi>, strength'ning misproud Yorke;</l>
      <l n="1202">And whether flye the Gnats, but to the Sunne?</l>
      <l n="1203">And who shines now, but<hi rend="italic">Henries</hi>Enemies?</l>
      <l n="1204">O Phœbus! had'st thou neuer giuen consent,</l>
      <l n="1205">That<hi rend="italic">Phaeton</hi>should checke thy fiery Steeds,</l>
      <l n="1206">Thy burning Carre neuer had scorch'd the earth.</l>
      <l n="1207">And<hi rend="italic">Henry</hi>, had'st thou sway'd as Kings should do,</l>
      <l n="1208">Or as thy Father, and his Father did,</l>
      <l n="1209">Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke,</l>
      <l n="1210">They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes:</l>
      <l n="1211">I, and ten thousand in this lucklesse Realme,</l>
      <l n="1212">Hed left no mourning Widdowes for our death,</l>
      <l n="1213">And thou this day, had'st kept thy Chaire in peace.</l>
      <l n="1214">For what doth cherrish Weeds, but gentle ayre?</l>
      <l n="1215">And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="1216">Bootlesse are Plaints, and Curelesse are my Wounds:</l>
      <l n="1217">No way to flye, nor strength to hold out flight:</l>
      <l n="1218">The Foe is mercilesse, and will not pitty:</l>
      <l n="1219">For at their hands I haue deseru'd no pitty.</l>
      <l n="1220">The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1221">And much effule of blood, doth make me faint:</l>
      <l n="1222">Come<hi rend="italic">Yorke</hi>, and<hi rend="italic">Richard, Warwicke</hi>, and the rest,</l>
      <l n="1223">I stab'd your Fathers bosomes; Split my brest.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="mixed">Alarum &amp; Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, and
      <lb/>Soldiers, Montague, &amp; Clarence.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="1224">Now breath we Lords, good fortune bids vs pause,</l>
      <l n="1225">And smooth the frownes of War, with peacefull lookes:</l>
      <l n="1226">Some Troopes pursue the bloody‑minded Queene,</l>
      <l n="1227">That led calme<hi rend="italic">Henry</hi>, though he were a King,</l>
      <l n="1228">As doth a Saile, fill'd with a fretting Gust</l>
      <l n="1229">Command an Argosie to stemme the Waues.</l>
      <l n="1230">But thinke you (Lords) that Clifford fled with them?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1231">No, 'tis impossible he should escape:</l>
      <l n="1232">(For though before his face I speake the words)</l>
      <l n="1233">Your Brother<hi rend="italic">Richard</hi>markt him for the Graue,</l>
      <l n="1234">And wheresoere he is, hee's surely dead.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="business">Clifford grones</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1235">Whose soule is that which takes hir heauy leaue?</l>
      <l n="1236">A deadly grone, like life and deaths departing.</l>
      <l n="1237">See who it is.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="1238">And now the Battailes ended,</l>
      <l n="1239">If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1240">Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1241">Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch</l>
      <l n="1242">In hewing Rutland, when his leaues put forth,</l>
      <l n="1243">But set his murth'ring knife vnto the Roote,</l>
      <l n="1244">From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,</l>
      <l n="1245">I meane our Princely Father, Duke of Yorke.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1246">From off the gates of Yorke, fetch down<choice>
            <abbr>yͤ</abbr>
            <expan>the</expan>
         </choice>head,</l>
      <l n="1247">Your Fathers head, which<hi rend="italic">Ciifford</hi>placed there:</l>
      <l n="1248">In stead whereof, let this supply the roome,</l>
      <l n="1249">Measure for measure, must be answered.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="1250">Bring forth that fatall Schreechowle to our house,</l>
      <l n="1251">That nothing sung but death, to vs and ours:</l>
      <l n="1252">Now death shall stop his dismall threatning sound,</l>
      <l n="1253">And his ill‑boading tongue, no more shall speake.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1254">I thinke is vnderstanding is bereft:</l>
      <l n="1255">Speake<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, dost thou know who speakes to thee?</l>
      <l n="1256">Darke cloudy death ore‑shades his beames of life,</l>
      <l n="1257">And he nor sees, nor heares vs, what we say.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1258">O would he did, and so (perhaps) he doth,</l>
      <l n="1259">'Tis but his policy to counterfet,</l>
      <l n="1260">Because he would auoid such bitter taunts</l>
      <l n="1261">Which in the time of death he gaue our Father.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-cla">
      <speaker rend="italic">Cla</speaker>
      <l n="1262">If so thou think'st,</l>
      <l n="1263">Vex him with eager Words.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1264">
         <hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, aske mercy, and obtaine no grace.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="1265">
         <hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, repent in bootlesse penitence.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1266">
         <hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, deuise excuses for thy faults.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-cla">
      <speaker rend="italic">Cla.</speaker>
      <l n="1267">While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1268">Thou didd'st loue Yorke, and I am son to Yorke.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edw.</speaker>
      <l n="1269">Thou pittied'st Rutland, I will pitty thee.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-cla">
      <speaker rend="italic">Cla.</speaker>
      <l n="1270">Where's Captaine<hi rend="italic">Margaret</hi>, to fence you now?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1271">They mocke thee<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1272">Sweare as thou was't wont.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ric.</speaker>
      <l n="1273">What, not an Oath? Nay then the world go's hard</l>
      <l n="1274">When<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>cannot spare his Friends an oath:</l>
      <l n="1275">I know by that he's dead, and by my Soule,</l>
      <l n="1276">If this right hand would buy two houres life,</l>
      <l n="1277">That I (in all despight) might rayle at him,</l>
      <l n="1278">This hand should chop it off: &amp; with the issuing Blood</l>
      <l n="1279">Stifle the Villaine, whose vnstanched thirst</l>
      <l n="1280">Yorke, and yong Rutland could not satisfie</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1281">I, but he's dead. Of with the Traitors head,</l>
      <l n="1282">And reare it in the place your Fathers stands.</l>
      <l n="1283">And now to London with Triumphant march,</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0514-0.jpg" n="158"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1284">There to be crowned Englands Royall King:</l>
      <l n="1285">From whence, shall Warwicke cut the Sea to France,</l>
      <l n="1286">And aske the Ladie<hi rend="italic">Bona</hi>for thy Queene:</l>
      <l n="1287">So shalt thou sinow both these Lands together,</l>
      <l n="1288">And hauing France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread</l>
      <l n="1289">The scattred Foe, that hopes to rise againe:</l>
      <l n="1290">For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,</l>
      <l n="1291">Yet looke to haue them buz to offend thine eares:</l>
      <l n="1292">First, will I see the Coronation,</l>
      <l n="1293">And then to Britanny Ile crosse the Sea,</l>
      <l n="1294">To effect this marriage, so it please my Lord.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="1295">Euen as thou wilt sweet Warwicke, let it bee:</l>
      <l n="1296">For in thy shoulder do I builde my Seate;</l>
      <l n="1297">And neuer will I vndertake the thing</l>
      <l n="1298">Wherein thy counsaile and consent is wanting:</l>
      <l n="1299">
         <hi rend="italic">Richard</hi>, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,</l>
      <l n="1300">And<hi rend="italic">George</hi>of Clarence;<hi rend="italic">Warwicke</hi>as our Selfe,</l>
      <l n="1301">Shall do, and vndo as him pleaseth best.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="1302">Let me be Duke of Clarence,<hi rend="italic">George</hi>of Gloster,</l>
      <l n="1303">For Glosters Dukedome is too ominous.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="1304">Tut, that's a foolish obseruation:</l>
      <l n="1305">
         <hi rend="italic">Richard</hi>, be Duke of Gloster: Now to London,</l>
      <l n="1306">To see these Honors in possession.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt</stage>
</div>

        
        

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