Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there

Rather than have made that savage Duke thine heir

And disinherited thine only son.

PRINCE EDWARD

Father, you cannot disinherit me.

If you be king, why should not I succeed?

KING HENRY

Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son—

The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.

QUEEN MARGARET

Enforced thee? Art thou king, and wilt be forced?

I shame to hear thee speak! Ah, timorous wretch,

Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me,

And giv’n unto the house of York such head

As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.

To entail him and his heirs unto the crown—

What is it, but to make thy sepulchre

And creep into it far before thy time?

Warwick is Chancellor and the Lord of Calais;

Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;

The Duke is made Protector of the Realm;

And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds

The trembling lamb environèd with wolves.

Had I been there, which am a seely woman,

The soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes

Before I would have granted to that act.

But thou preferr’st thy life before thine honour.

And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself

Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

Until that act of Parliament be repealed

Whereby my son is disinherited.

The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours

Will follow mine, if once they see them spread—

And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace

And the utter ruin of the house of York.

Thus do I leave thee. (To Prince Edward) Come, son,

let’s away.

Our army is ready—come, we’ll after them.

KING HENRY

Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET

Thou hast spoke too much already.

⌈To Prince Edward⌉ Get thee gone.

KING HENRY

Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

QUEEN MARGARET

Ay, to be murdered by his enemies.

PRINCE EDWARD (to King Henry)

When I return with victory from the field,

I’ll see your grace. Till then, I’ll follow her.

QUEEN MARGARET

Come, son, away—we may not linger thus.

Exit with Prince Edward

KING HENRY

Poor Queen, how love to me and to her son

Hath made her break out into terms of rage.

Revenged may she be on that hateful Duke,

Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,

Will coast my crown, and, like an empty eagle,

Tire on the flesh of me and of my son.

The loss of those three lords torments my heart.

I’ll write unto them and entreat them fair.

Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

EXETER

And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

Flourish. Exeunt

1.2 Enter Richard, Edward Earl of March, and the Marquis of Montague

RICHARD

Brother, though I be youngest give me leave.

EDWARD

No, I can better play the orator.

MONTAGUE

But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Enter the Duke of York

YORK

Why, how now, sons and brother—at a strife?

What is your quarrel? How began it first?

EDWARD

No quarrel, but a slight contention.

YORK About what?

RICHARD

About that which concerns your grace and us—

The crown of England, father, which is yours.

YORK

Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.

RICHARD

Your right depends not on his life or death.

EDWARD

Now you are heir—therefore enjoy it now.

By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,

It will outrun you, father, in the end.

YORK

I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

EDWARD

But for a kingdom any oath may be broken.

I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

RICHARD (to York)

No—God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

YORK

I shall be if I claim by open war.

RICHARD

I’ll prove the contrary, if you’ll hear me speak.

YORK

Thou canst not, son—it is impossible.

RICHARD

An oath is of no moment being not took

Before a true and lawful magistrate

That hath authority over him that swears.

Henry had none, but did usurp the place.

Then, seeing ’twas he that made you to depose,

Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.

Therefore to arms—and, father, do but think

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,

Within whose circuit is Elysium

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest

Until the white rose that I wear be dyed

Even in the luke-warm blood of Henry’s heart.

YORK

Richard, enough! I will be king or die.

(To Montague) Brother, thou shalt to London presently

And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.

Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk

And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, shall to Edmund Brook, Lord Cobham,

With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.

In them I trust, for they are soldiers

Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.

While you are thus employed, what resteth more

But that I seek occasion how to rise,

And yet the King not privy to my drift,

Nor any of the house of Lancaster.

Enter a Messenger