And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the Fourth,
grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his
nephew Richard, Edward's son,
The first-begotten and the
lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent;
During whose reign the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my
advancement to the throne.
The reason mov'd these
warlike lords to this
Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body-
I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son
To King Edward the Third;
whereas he
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but fourth of that
heroic line.
But mark: as in this
haughty great attempt
They laboured to plant the
rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
Thy father, Earl of Cam
bridge, then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army, weening to
redeemAnd have install'd me in the diadem;
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.
PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.
MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,
And that my fainting words do
warrant death.
Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;
But yet be wary in thy studious care.
PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments
prevail with me.
But yet
methinks my father's execution
Was nothing less than
bloody tyranny.
MORTIMER. With silence,
nephew, be thou politic;
Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster
And like a mountain not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence,
As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd
With long
continuance in a settled place.
PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years
Might but
redeem the passage of your age!
MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer
doth
Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only give order for my funeral.
And so,
farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,
And
prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Dies]
PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war,
befall thy
parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a
hermit overpass'd thy days.
Well, I will lock his
counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.
Keepers,
convey him hence; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life.
Exeunt GAOLERS,
hearing out the body of MORTIMER
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with
ambition of the meaner sort;
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,
I doubt not but with honour to redress;
And
therefore haste I to the Parliament,
Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make my ill th'
advantage of my good. Exit
ACT III. SCENE 1.
London. The Parliament House
Flourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,
WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF
WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER
snatches it, and tears it
WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd?
Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my
charge,
Do it without
invention, suddenly;
I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous
priest, this place commands my
patience,
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in
writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile
outrageous crimes,
That
therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most
pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious,
wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy
profession and degree;
And for thy
treachery, what's more manifest
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The King, thy
sovereign, is not quite exempt
From
enviousmalice of thy swelling heart.
WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
To give me
hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous,
ambitious, or perverse,
As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or how haps it I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for
dissension, who preferreth peace
More than I do, except I be provok'd?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke:
It is because no one should sway but he;
No one but he should be about the King;
And that engenders
thunder in his breast
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know I am as good
GLOUCESTER. As good!
Thou
bastard of my
grandfather!
WINCHESTER. Ay,
lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
But one
imperious in another's throne?
GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy
priest?
WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?
GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an
outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to
patronage his theft.
WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!
GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend
Touching thy
spiritualfunction, not thy life.
WINCHESTER. Rome shall
remedy this.
WARWICK. Roam
thither then.
SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to
forbear.
WARWICK. Ay, see the
bishop be not overborne.
SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.
WARWICK. Methinks his
lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
Is not his Grace Protector to the King?
PLANTAGENET. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his
tongue,
Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold
verdict enter talk with lords?'
Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would
prevail, if prayers might
prevailTo join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a
scandal is it to our crown
That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
Civil
dissension is a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
[A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!']
What tumult's this?
WARWICK. An
uproar, I dare
warrant,
Begun through
malice of the Bishop's men.
[A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!']
Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended
MAYOR. O, my good lords, and
virtuous Henry,
Pity the city of London, pity us!
The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of
pebble stones
And, banding themselves in
contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out.
Our windows are broke down in every street,
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.
Enter in
skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and
WINCHESTER, with
bloody pates
KING HENRY. We
charge you, on
allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be
forbidden stones, we'll
fall to it with our teeth.
SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
[Skirmish again]
GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a
man
Just and
upright, and for your royal birth
Inferior to none but to his Majesty;
And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
We and our wives and children all will fight
And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes.
FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again]
GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say!
And if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me
persuade you to
forbear awhile.
KING HENRY. O, how this
discord doth
afflict my soul!
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
Who should be
pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,