ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. Fields between Dartford and | Blackheath. The KING's Camp on one side. On the other, enter YORK attended, with drum and colours: his Forces at some distance. York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right, And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? On which I'll toss the fleur-de-luce of France. Enter BUCKINGHAM. Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury! Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part: York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness' tent. bring? York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence; Enter IDEN, with CADE's head. Iden. 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. K. Hen. 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? Iden. I was, an 't like your majesty. K. Hen. How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree? Iden. Alexander Iden, that 's my name; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. Buck. So please it you, my lord, 't were not amiss He were created knight for his good service. K. Hen. Iden, kneel down: [He kneels.] Rise up a knight. We give thee for reward a thousand marks; Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen; Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET. Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand, and front him to his face. York. How now! Is Somerset at liberty? Som. O monstrous traitor!-I arrest thee, York, York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,a a He probably points to his sons, who are waiting without or, it may be, to his troops. If they can brook I bow a knee to man. Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail; [Ex. an Attend. And shame thine honourable age with blood? I know, ere they will have me go to ward, To say, if that the bastard boys of York Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET, with Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also, See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious hu Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; says, shall give their words for him. York. Will you not, sons? sons, Edi. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. Drums. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY, with Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to And manacle the bearward in their chains, York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? If it be banish'd from the frosty head, * The bear and ragged staff was the cognizance of the Nevils. Why art thou old and want'st experience? Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with Heaven for such But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. Who can be bound by any solemn vow Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. SCENE II.-Saint Alban's. Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. Enter YORK. How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot? York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; Enter CLIFFORD. War. Of one or both of us the time is come. Stigmatic. This was the appellation of an offender who had Young been branded-upon whom a stigma had been set. Clifford insults Richard with the natural stigma of his de formity. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, Alarums: Excursions. Enter KING HENRY, QUFFX For I myself must hunt this deer to death. MARGARET, and others, retreating. War. Then, nobly, York; 't is for a fight'st. As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, crown thou [Exit. Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause? York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy. Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, But that 't is shown ignobly, and in treason. York. So let it help me now against thy sword, As I in justice and true right express it! Clif. My soul and body on the action both!York. A dreadful lay!-address thee instantly. [They fight, and CLIFFORD falls. Clif. La fin couronne les œuvres. [Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still. Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be thy will. [Exit. Enter Young CLIFFORD. Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout; Hot coals of vengeance !-Let no soldier fly: Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus day; By the mass, so did we all.-I thank you, Richard: [Taking up the body. And it hath pleas'd him that three times to-day As did Æneas old Anchises bear, [Exit. You have defended me from imminent death. York. I know our safety is to follow them; INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. THIS drama appears in the original folio collection under the title of The Third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the Death of the Duke of Yorke.' In 1595 was published The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henry the Sixt, with the whole Contention between the two Houses Lancaster and Yorke, as it was sundrie times acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Pembrooke his Servants. Upon this drama is founded The Third Part of Henry VI.,' in the form in which we have received it as Shakspere's. We believe, as in the case of the two previous dramas, and of the Richard III.,' which is a continuation of the History, that to Shakspere belongs the original authorship. The schemes of York are successful, and he is at length in arms; but he still dissembles. : Shakspere has given us every light and shadow of the partisanship of chivalry in his delineation of the various characters in these two wonderful dramas of the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI.' Apart and isolated from all active agency in the quarrel stands out the remarkable creation of Henry. The poet, with his instinctive judgment, has given the king a much higher character than the chroniclers assign to him. Their relations leave little doubt upon our minds that his imbecility was very nearly allied to utter incapacity; and that the thin partition between weakness and idiocy was sometimes wholly removed. But Shakspere has never painted Henry under this aspect he has shown us a king with virtues unsuited to the age in which he lived; with talents unfitted for the station in which he moved; contemplative amidst friends and foes hurried along by a distempered energy; peaceful under circumstances that could have no issue but in appeals to arms; just in thought, but powerless to assert even his own sense of right amidst the contests of injustice which hemmed him in. The entire conception of the character of Henry, in connexion with the circumstances to which it was subjected, is to be found in the Parliament-scene of The Third Part of Henry VI.' This scene is copied from the Contention,' with scarcely the addition or alteration of a word. We may boldly affirm that none but Shakspere could have depicted with such marvellous truth the weakness, based upon a hatred of strife-the vacillation, not of imbecile cunning, but of clear-sighted candour-the assertion of power through the influence of habit, but of a power trembling even at its own authority-the glimmerings of courage utterly extinguished by the threats of " armed men," and proposing compro mise even worse than war. It was weakness such as this which inevitably raised up the fiery partisans that the poet has so wonderfully depicted; the bloody Clifford-the "she-wolf of France"-the dissembling York the haughty Warwick-the voluptuous Edward— and, last and most terrible of all, he that best explains his own character, " I am myself alone.” One by one the partisans that are thus marshalled by the poet in the Parliament-scene of London are swept away by the steady progress of that justice which rides over their violence and their subtlety. The hollow truce is broken. Margaret is ready to assail York in his castle; York is prepared for the field, having learned from the precocious sophist Richard how an “oath is of no moment." Now are let loose all the "dogs of war." The savage Clifford strikes down the innocent Rutland; the more savage Margaret dips her napkin in his blood. York perishes under the prolonged retribution that awaited the ambition that dallied with murder and rebellion. Clifford, to whom nothing is so odious as "harmful pity," falls in the field of Towton, where the son was arrayed against the father, and the father against the son; and the king, more "woebegone" than the unwilling victims of ambition, moralises upon the "happy life" of the "homely swain." The great actors of the tragedy are changed. Edward and Richard have become the leaders of the Yorkists, with Warwick, "the king-maker," to rest upon. Henry has fled to Scotland; Margaret to France. Then is unfolded another leaf of that Sibylline book. Edward is on the throne, careless of everything but self-gratification; despising his supporters, offending even his brothers. Warwick takes arms against him; Clarence deserts to Warwick; Richard alone remains faithful, sneering at his brother, and laughing in the concealment of his own motives for fidelity. Edward is a fugitive, and finally a captive; but Richard redeems him, and Clarence again cleaves to him. The second revolution is accomplished. The "king-maker" yields his "body to the earth" in the field of Barnet; Margaret and her son become captives in the plains near Tewksbury. Then comes the terrible hour to the unhappy queen-that hour which she foresaw not when she gave the "bloody napkin" to the wretched Yorkthat hour whose intensity of suffering reached its climax of expression in "You have no children." But Richard is fled, "To make a bloody supper in the Tower." |