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From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right, And pluck the crown from feeble Henry’s head: Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, To entertain great England’s lawful king. Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear? Let them obey that know not how to rule; This hand was made to handle naught but gold. I cannot give due action to my words, Except a sword or sceptre balance it: A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, On which I’ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
From Ireland, this is York coming to claim his right, And take the crown from weak Henry’s head: Ring the bells loudly; light bonfires, bright and clear, To welcome England’s rightful king. Ah! holy majesty, who wouldn’t pay a lot for you? Let those obey who don’t know how to rule; This hand was made for handling nothing but gold. I can’t act on my words properly, Unless I have a sword or sceptre to back them up: I’ll take a sceptre if I have a soul, And with it, I’ll toss the French lily flower.
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.
Who’s this? Buckingham, here to bother me? The king must have sent him, I need to hide my true feelings.
York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.
York, if you mean well, I greet you well.
Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?
Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept your greeting. Are you a messenger, or are you here just for fun?
A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, To know the reason of these arms in peace; Or why thou, being a subject as I am, Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, Should raise so great a power without his leave, Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
A messenger from Henry, our feared king, To ask why you have raised an army in peaceful times; Or why, being a subject like me, You would break your oath and loyalty To raise such a large force without his permission, Or bring your army so close to the court.
[Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great: O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, I am so angry at these abject terms; And now, like Ajax Telamonius, On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. I am far better born than is the king, More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: But I must make fair weather yet a while, Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,-- Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while; My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. The cause why I have brought this army hither Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, Seditious to his grace and to the state.
[Aside] I can hardly speak, I’m so angry: Oh, I could break rocks and fight with flint, I’m so furious with these insulting words; And now, like Ajax Telamonius, I could unleash my rage on sheep or oxen. I’m born much better than the king, More kingly, more royal in my thoughts: But I must keep up appearances for now, Until Henry is weaker and I am stronger,-- Buckingham, please forgive me, For not responding all this time; My mind has been troubled with deep sadness. The reason I’ve brought this army here Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, For being rebellious against him and the state.
That is too much presumption on thy part: But if thy arms be to no other end, The king hath yielded unto thy demand: The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
That’s too much arrogance from you: But if your army has no other goal, The king has already agreed to your request: The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?
Is he a prisoner, on your word?
Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.
On my word, he is a prisoner.
Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; Meet me to-morrow in St. George’s field, You shall have pay and every thing you wish. And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love; I’ll send them all as willing as I live: Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have, Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
Then, Buckingham, I’ll dismiss my army. Soldiers, thank you all; go home; Meet me tomorrow in St. George’s field, You’ll get paid and everything you want. And let my sovereign, noble Henry, Command my oldest son, no, all my sons, As proof of my loyalty and love; I’ll send them all willingly, as long as I live: Lands, goods, horses, armor, anything I have, Is his to use, as long as Somerset dies.
York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness’ tent.
York, I commend your respectful submission: We’ll both go to his highness’ tent.
Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?
Buckingham, does York mean no harm to us, That he’s walking with you, arm in arm?
In all submission and humility York doth present himself unto your highness.
With all respect and humility, York presents himself to your highness.
Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?
Then what are these forces you’re bringing?
To heave the traitor Somerset from hence, And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited.
To remove the traitor Somerset from here, And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, Who, as I heard, has already been defeated.
If one so rude and of so mean condition May pass into the presence of a king, Lo, I present your grace a traitor’s head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
If someone as humble and of low rank Can enter the presence of a king, Here, I present your grace the head of a traitor, The head of Cade, whom I killed in combat.
The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou! O, let me view his visage, being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?
The head of Cade! Great God, how just You are! Oh, let me see his face, now that he’s dead, The one who caused me so much trouble when he was alive. Tell me, my friend, are you the one who killed him?
I was, an’t like your majesty.
I am, if it pleases your majesty.
How art thou call’d? and what is thy degree?
What’s your name? And what’s your rank?
Alexander Iden, that’s my name; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.
Alexander Iden, that’s my name; A poor squire from Kent, who loves his king.
So please it you, my lord, ’twere not amiss He were created knight for his good service.
If it pleases you, my lord, it wouldn’t be a bad idea To make him a knight for his good service.
Iden, kneel down.
Iden, kneel down.
Rise up a knight. We give thee for reward a thousand marks, And will that thou henceforth attend on us.
Rise up a knight. We give you a thousand marks as a reward, And from now on, you will attend to us.
May Iden live to merit such a bounty. And never live but true unto his liege!
May Iden live to deserve such a reward. And may he always be loyal to his king!
See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen: Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.
Look, Buckingham, Somerset is coming with the queen: Go, tell her to hide him quickly from the duke.
For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand and front him to his face.
For a thousand Yorks, he will not hide his head, But will stand boldly and face him.
How now! is Somerset at liberty? Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison’d thoughts, And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? False king! why hast thou broken faith with me, Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? King did I call thee? no, thou art not king, Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. That head of thine doth not become a crown; Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff, And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles’ spear, Is able with the change to kill and cure. Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up And with the same to act controlling laws. Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more O’er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.
What’s this? Is Somerset free? Then, York, release your long-imprisoned thoughts, And let your words match your heart. Shall I put up with the sight of Somerset? False king! Why have you broken your word with me, Knowing how hard it is for me to tolerate insult? King did I call you? No, you are not a king, Not fit to rule over people, You can’t even control a traitor. That head of yours doesn’t deserve a crown; Your hand is meant for holding a pilgrim’s staff, Not to hold a mighty royal scepter. This gold should be on my brow, Whose smile and frown, like Achilles’ spear, Can kill and heal with a single change. Here is a hand that should hold the scepter And use it to make the laws. Step aside: by heaven, you will rule no more Over him whom heaven made your ruler.
O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, Of capital treason ’gainst the king and crown; Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.
O monstrous traitor! I arrest you, York, For high treason against the king and crown; Obey, bold traitor; kneel for mercy.
Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these, If they can brook I bow a knee to man. Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;
You want me to kneel? Let me first ask these, If they can bear that I bow my knee to any man. Servant, call my sons to stand as my guarantors;
I know, ere they will have me go to ward, They’ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.
I know, before they’ll let me go to prison, They’ll give up their swords to secure my release.
Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain, To say if that the bastard boys of York Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
Call Clifford here! Tell him to hurry, And see if York’s bastard sons Will stand as sureties for their traitor father.
O blood-besotted Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England’s bloody scourge! The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their father’s bail; and bane to those That for my surety will refuse the boys!
O blood-soaked Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England’s bloody curse! The sons of York, superior by birth, Shall stand as their father’s guarantors; and woe to those Who refuse to take the boys as surety!
See where they come: I’ll warrant they’ll make it good.
Look, here they come: I’m sure they’ll prove me right.
And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.
And here comes Clifford to refuse their bail.
Health and all happiness to my lord the king!
Health and all happiness to my lord the king!
I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee? Nay, do not fright us with an angry look; We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
Thank you, Clifford. So, what’s the news? No, don’t scare us with that angry look; We are your king, Clifford, kneel again; We forgive you for your mistake.
This is my king, York, I do not mistake; But thou mistakest me much to think I do: To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?
This is my king, York, I’m not mistaken; But you’re mistaken if you think I am: To the madhouse with him! Has the man gone mad?
Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour Makes him oppose himself against his king.
Yes, Clifford; it’s a madness and ambition That makes him rebel against his king.
He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his.
He’s a traitor; take him to the Tower, And chop off that rebellious head of his.
He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
He’s been arrested, but he refuses to obey; He says his sons will vouch for him.
Will you not, sons?
Won’t you, sons?
Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
Yes, noble father, if our words will help.
And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
And if words don’t work, then our weapons will.
Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
What a bunch of traitors we have here!
Look in a glass, and call thy image so: I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, That with the very shaking of their chains They may astonish these fell-lurking curs: Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.
Look in a mirror and see your true self: I am your king, and you are a traitor with a false heart. Call my two strong warriors to the stake, And with the shake of their chains They’ll scare off these vicious, sneaky dogs: Tell Salisbury and Warwick to come to me.
Are these thy bears? we’ll bait thy bears to death. And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.
Are these your bears? We’ll kill your bears. And chain up the bear-keeper if you dare bring them to fight.
Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld; Who, being suffer’d with the bear’s fell paw, Hath clapp’d his tail between his legs and cried: And such a piece of service will you do, If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.
I’ve often seen a hot-tempered, arrogant dog Run away and bite because it was held back; Who, when it’s attacked by the bear’s savage paw, Tucks its tail and runs, whining: And that’s exactly what you’ll do, If you try to challenge Lord Warwick.
Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!
Get out of here, you pile of anger, disgusting lump, As crooked in your manners as you are in shape!
Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
No, we’ll warm you up properly in a minute.
Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.
Be careful, or your anger will end up hurting you.
Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? If it be banish’d from the frosty head, Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, And shame thine honourable age with blood? Why art thou old, and want’st experience? Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
Why, Warwick, have you forgotten how to bow? Old Salisbury, it’s a disgrace to your gray hair, You foolish guide of your mad, sick son! What, will you now act like a brute on your deathbed, Looking for grief through your old age? Oh, where is faith? Oh, where is loyalty? If it’s gone from the cold mind, Where can it find a place on earth? Are you going to dig a grave to start a war, And disgrace your old age with bloodshed? Why are you old, and lacking wisdom? Or why do you misuse it, if you have it? For shame! Do your duty and bow to me, As you bow to the grave in your old age.
My lord, I have consider’d with myself The title of this most renowned duke; And in my conscience do repute his grace The rightful heir to England’s royal seat.
My lord, I’ve thought this through, The title of this most honored duke; And in my heart, I believe he is The rightful heir to England’s throne.
Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
Haven’t you sworn loyalty to me?
I have.
I have.
Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?
Can you ignore heaven’s judgment on such an oath?
It is great sin to swear unto a sin, But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. Who can be bound by any solemn vow To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, To force a spotless virgin’s chastity, To reave the orphan of his patrimony, To wring the widow from her custom’d right, And have no other reason for this wrong But that he was bound by a solemn oath?
It’s a great sin to swear to something sinful, But a greater sin to keep a sinful oath. Who can be bound by any vow To commit murder, rob a man, Violate a pure virgin’s chastity, Steal from an orphan his inheritance, Take away a widow’s rightful claim, And have no other excuse for such wrongs Than that they swore a solemn oath?
A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
A clever traitor needs no tricks to fool others.
Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.
Call Buckingham, and tell him to arm himself.
Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolved for death or dignity.
Call Buckingham, and all your other allies, I am ready for either death or glory.
The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
I can guarantee death if dreams turn out to be true.
You were best to go to bed and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
You’d better go to bed and dream again, To protect yourself from the storm of battle.
I am resolved to bear a greater storm Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; And that I’ll write upon thy burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
I’m ready to face a greater storm Than any you can bring today; And I’ll mark it on your helmet, If I can just recognize you by your family emblem.
Now, by my father’s badge, old Nevil’s crest, The rampant bear chain’d to the ragged staff, This day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet, As on a mountain top the cedar shows That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
Now, by my father’s emblem, old Nevil’s crest, The bear chained to the ragged staff, Today I’ll wear my helmet high, Like a cedar on a mountain top That keeps its leaves no matter the storm, To frighten you just by seeing it.
And from thy burgonet I’ll rend thy bear And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.
And I’ll tear your bear from your helmet And trample it underfoot with contempt, No matter the keeper who protects it.
And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels and their complices.
And so, to arms, victorious father, To defeat the rebels and their allies.
Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.
Ugh! Have some decency, for shame! Don’t speak out of spite, Because tonight you’ll eat with Jesus Christ.
Foul stigmatic, that’s more than thou canst tell.
You disgusting mark of disgrace, you don’t even know what you’re saying.
If not in heaven, you’ll surely sup in hell.
If not in heaven, then you’ll definitely dine in hell.