Gary Taylor, John Jowett, Terri Bourus, and Gabriel Egan (eds), The New Oxford Shakespeare: Modern Critical Edition
pg 3612.5Sc. 9
Editor’s NoteAlarum. Enter King Henry alone1
king henry This battle fares like to the morning's war,
2 When dying clouds contend with growing light:
Editor’s Note3What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
4 Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
5Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
6 Forced by the tide to combat with the wind.
7Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
8 Forced to retire by fury of the wind.
Editor’s Note9Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind,
10Now one the better, then another best,
11Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
12Yet neither conqueror nor conquerèd.
Editor’s Note13So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Editor’s Note14Here on this molehill will I sit me down,
15To whom God will, there be the victory.
16For Margaret my Queen, and Clifford too,
Editor’s Note17Have chid me from the battle, swearing both
Editor’s Note18They prosper best of all when I am thence.
19Would I were dead, if God's good will were so;
20For what is in this world but grief and woe.
21O God! Methinks it were a happy life
Editor’s Note22To be no better than a homely swain,
23To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
Editor’s Note24To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
25Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
26How many makes the hour full complete,
Editor’s Note27How many hours brings about the day,
28How many days will finish up the year,
29How many years a mortal man may live.
30When this is known, then to divide the times:
31So many hours must I tend my flock,
32So many hours must I take my rest,
33So many hours must I contemplate,
Editor’s Note34So many hours must I sport myself,
35So many days my ewes have been with young,
Editor’s Note36So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
37So many months ere [ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]
38So many years ere I shall shear the fleece.
39So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Editor’s Note40Past over to the end they were created,
41Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
42Ah, what a life were this! How sweet! How lovely!
43Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
pg 362Editor’s Note44To shepherds, looking on their seely sheep,
Editor’s Note45Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
46To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
47O yes, it doth; a thousandfold it doth.
48And, to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
49His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
Editor’s Note50His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
Editor’s Note51All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Editor’s Note52Is far beyond a prince's delicates:
Editor’s Note53His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
Editor’s Note54His body couchèd in a curious bed,
55When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.Editor’s NoteAlarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his father at one doorEditor’s Note56
son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
57This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight
Editor’s Note58May be possessèd with some store of crowns;
Editor’s Note59And I that haply take them from him now
60May yet ere night yield both my life and them
61To some man else, as this dead man doth me.—
Editor’s Note62Who's this? [Recognizing his father] O God! It is my father's face,
Editor’s Note63Whom in this conflict, I, unwares, have killed.
64O heavy times, begetting such events!
Editor’s Note65From London by the King was I pressed forth.
66My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
Editor’s Note67Came on the part of York, pressed by his master.
68And I, who at his hands received my life,
Editor’s Note69Have, by my hands, of life bereavèd him.
Editor’s Note70Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did;
71And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.
72My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks,
73And no more words till they have flowed their fill.[He weeps]74
king henry O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
75Whiles lions war, and battle for their dens,
Editor’s Note76Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
77Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear;
78And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Editor’s Note79Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief.[He weeps] Editor’s NoteEnter Father, bearing of his son [that he hath killed, at another door]80
father Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
81Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
82For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
84Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
85Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Editor’s Note86Throw up thine eye. See, see, what showers arise,
87Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
88Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart.
Editor’s Note89O pity, God, this miserable age!
Editor’s Note90What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Editor’s Note91Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural
92This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
Editor’s Note93O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
Editor’s Note94And hath bereft thee of thy life too late.95
king henry Woe above woe! Grief more than common grief!
Editor’s Note96O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
97O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
Editor’s Note98The red rose and the white are on his face,
99The fatal colours of our striving houses.
100The one his purple blood right well resembles;
Editor’s Note101The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.
Editor’s Note102Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
103If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.104
son How will my mother, for a father's death,
Editor’s Note105Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!106
father How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
107Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied!Editor’s Note108
king henry How will the country, for these woeful chances,Editor’s Note110
son Was ever son so rued a father's death?111
father Was ever father so bemoaned his son?112
king henry Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe?
113Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much.114
son I'll bear thee hence where I may weep my fill.[Exit bearing his dead father]115
father These arms of mine shall be thy winding sheet.
116My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
117For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
118My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell,
Editor’s Note119And so obsequious will thy father be,
120Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
Editor’s Note121As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
122I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
123For I have murdered where I should not kill.Exit [bearing his dead son]pg 364 Editor’s Note124
king henry Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
125Here sits a king more woeful than you are.Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, the Prince, and Exeter126
prince edward Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled,
Editor’s Note127And Warwick rages like a chafèd bull.
128Away, for death doth hold us in pursuit.Editor’s Note129
queen Mount you, my lord! Towards Berwick post amain.
Editor’s Note130Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
131Having the fearful-flying hare in sight,
132With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
133And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands,
134Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain!135
exeter Away, for vengeance comes along with them.
Editor’s Note136Nay, stay not to expostulate. Make speed!—
137Or else come after; I'll away before.138
king henry Nay, take me with thee, good, sweet Exeter—
139Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
140Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away!Exeunt