No More Learning

methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run-
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times-
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will can;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates-
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at
one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at
another door

SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight
May be possessed with some store of crowns;
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
Who's this? O God! It is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the King was I press'd forth;
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did.
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.
KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief.

Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON

FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see. Is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart
Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!
O, pity, God, this miserable age!
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must perish.
SON. How will my mother for a father's death
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!
FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied!
KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances
Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!
SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death?
FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?
KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe?
Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.
SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
Exit with the body
FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murdered where I should not kill.
Exit with the body
KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER

PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed;
Or else come after. I'll away before.
KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt




SCENE VI.
Another part of the field

A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded

CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,
Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York.
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds.
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.
The foe is merciless and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast.
[He faints]

Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD
MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers

EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stern the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape;
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead.
[CLIFFORD groans, and dies]
RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
See who it is.
EDWARD. And now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.
RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murd'ring knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring-
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let this supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.
EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours.
Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft.
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.
RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.
EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.
RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
I know by that he's dead; and by my soul,
If this right hand would buy two hours' life,
That I in all despite might rail at him,
This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal King;
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation;
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester;
And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.
WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation.
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London
To see these honours in possession. Exeunt




<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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ACT III. SCENE I.
A chase in the north of England

Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands

FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves,
For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best;
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book

KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed.
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them and not myself?
FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.
This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him.
KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
For wise men say it is the wisest course.
SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.
KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
For she's a woman to be pitied much.
Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg: Warwick, to give.
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry:
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd:
He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the King from her
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!
SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?
KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:
A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?
SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.
KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that's enough.
SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?
KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones,
Not to be seen. My crown is call'd content;
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
Your crown content and you must be contented
To go along with us; for as we think,
You are the king King Edward hath depos'd;
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath?
SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now.
KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?
SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain.
KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old;
My father and my grandfather were kings;
And you were sworn true subjects unto me;
And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?
FIRST KEEPER. No;
For we were subjects but while you were king.
KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man?
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust,
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the King shall be commanded;
And be you kings: command, and I'll obey.
FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.
KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.
FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's,
To go with us unto the officers.
KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd;
And what God will, that let your King perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt




<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
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SCENE II.
London. The palace

Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY

KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field
This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror.
Her suit is now to repossess those lands;
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.
GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit;
It were dishonour to deny it her.
KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so?
I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the King will grant her humble suit.
CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he
keeps the wind!
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence!
KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit;
And come some other time to know our mind.
LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.
May it please your Highness to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your
lands,
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.
Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.
CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance
to fall.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take
vantages.
KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me.
CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of
her.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather
give her two.
LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him.
KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.
LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then.
KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.
GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have
leave
Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.
[GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw]
KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?
LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good?
LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm.
KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.
LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty.
KING EDWARD. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.
LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.
KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them?
LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do.
KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon.
LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.
LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.
GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.
CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt.
LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task?
KING EDWARD. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.
LADY GREY. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.
KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.
LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.
GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.
KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis the fruits of love I mean.
LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?
LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.
KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.
LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.
KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind.
LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.
KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.
KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.
LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.
LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit.
Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no.
KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request;
No, if thou dost say no to my demand.
LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows.
CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty;
Her words doth show her wit incomparable;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty.
One way or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.
Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?
LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord.
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee
I speak no more than what my soul intends;
And that is to enjoy thee for my love.
LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto.
I know I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.
KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.
LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father.
KING EDWARD. No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's Mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.