Original Text |
Translated Text |
| Source: Folger Shakespeare Library |
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A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power,
all wearing the white rose. EDWARD
I wonder how our princely father scaped,
Or whether he be scaped away or no
From Clifford’s and Northumberland’s pursuit.
Had he been ta’en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; 5
Or had he scaped, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad? RICHARD
I cannot joy until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become. 10
I saw him in the battle range about
And watched him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat,
Or as a bear encompassed round with dogs, 15
Who having pinched a few and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof and bark at him;
So fared our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father.
Methinks ’tis prize enough to be his son. 20
See how the morning opes her golden gates
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimmed like a younker, prancing to his love! | On the battlefield, Edward and Richard wonder where their dad is.
Richard saw him fighting and boy, was he brave. He's proud of his dad. |
EDWARD
Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? 25 RICHARD
Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun,
Not separated with the racking clouds
But severed in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see, they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vowed some league inviolable. 30
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun;
In this, the heaven figures some event. EDWARD
’Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 35
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should notwithstanding join our lights together
And overshine the earth, as this the world.
Whate’er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns. 40 RICHARD
Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male. | Just then, Edward notices three suns. Richard thinks the suns are hugging, or joining together somehow. How curious. Edward thinks it's them—the three York brothers—all blazing forward in the world, together. Richard, though, is skeptical. |
Enter a Messenger, blowing. But what art thou whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? MESSENGER
Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on 45
Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain,
Your princely father and my loving lord. EDWARD
O, speak no more, for I have heard too much! RICHARD
Say how he died, for I will hear it all. MESSENGER
Environèd he was with many foes, 50
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak. 55
By many hands your father was subdued,
But only slaughtered by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,
Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite,
Laughed in his face; and when with grief he wept, 60
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steepèd in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain.
And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head and on the gates of York 65
They set the same, and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e’er I viewed. He exits. | |
EDWARD
Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
O Clifford, boist’rous Clifford, thou hast slain 70
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquished him,
For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee.
Now my soul’s palace is become a prison;
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body 75
Might in the ground be closèd up in rest,
For never henceforth shall I joy again.
Never, O never, shall I see more joy! He weeps. RICHARD
I cannot weep, for all my body’s moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; 80
Nor can my tongue unload my heart’s great burden,
For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast
And burns me up with flames that tears would
quench. 85
To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me.
Richard, I bear thy name. I’ll venge thy death
Or die renownèd by attempting it. EDWARD
His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; 90
His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD
Nay, if thou be that princely eagle’s bird,
Show thy descent by gazing ’gainst the sun;
For “chair” and “dukedom,” “throne” and
“kingdom” say; 95
Either that is thine or else thou wert not his. | After the messenger tells the whole story—including the episode with the bloody handkerchief—Edward mourns. He says his body is like a prison to him because he'll never be happy again. Richard reacts differently. He can't cry over this, because he's too angry. He vows to get revenge on Clifford and Margaret for what they've done to his family. Dun dun dun. (Foreshadowing, much?) |
March. Enter Warwick, Marquess Montague, and their
army, all wearing the white rose. WARWICK
How now, fair lords? What fare, what news abroad? RICHARD
Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and at each word’s deliverance
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 100
The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain. EDWARD
O Warwick, Warwick, that Plantagenet
Which held thee dearly as his soul’s redemption
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. 105 WARWICK
Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears.
And now to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things sith then befall’n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, 110
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I, then in London, keeper of the King,
Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,
Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the 115
Queen,
Bearing the King in my behalf along;
For by my scouts I was advertisèd
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in Parliament 120
Touching King Henry’s oath and your succession.
Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met,
Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought.
But whether ’twas the coldness of the King,
Who looked full gently on his warlike queen, 125
That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen,
Or whether ’twas report of her success
Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigor,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge; but to conclude with truth, 130
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers’, like the night owl’s lazy flight
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheered them up with justice of our cause, 135
With promise of high pay and great rewards,
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled: the King unto the Queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself 140
In haste, posthaste, are come to join with you;
For in the Marches here we heard you were,
Making another head to fight again. | In come Warwick and Montague, with their armies. Richard breaks the news to them, and Edward fills them in on the fact that Clifford was the culprit. Then Warwick reports some news of his own: he heard about York's death and tried to stop Margaret on her way back to London. His army really tried, but it was no dice—Margaret's army defeated his and ran. In other news, George (Richard and Edward's other brother) is back from France. |
EDWARD
Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
And when came George from Burgundy to England? 145 WARWICK
Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers,
And, for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD
’Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. 150
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne’er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK
Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear?
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry’s head 155
And wring the awful scepter from his fist,
Were he as famous and as bold in war
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD
I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not.
’Tis love I bear thy glories make me speak. 160
But in this troublous time, what’s to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb’ring our Ave Marys with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 165
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say “Ay,” and to it, lords. | Wow, Richard replies. He's never heard of Warwick stepping down from a fight, so the battle must have been super difficult. |
WARWICK
Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords: the proud insulting queen, 170
With Clifford and the haught Northumberland
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrollèd in the Parliament. 175
And now to London all the crew are gone
To frustrate both his oath and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, 180
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, via, to London will we march,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 185
And once again cry “Charge!” upon our foes,
But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD
Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.
Ne’er may he live to see a sunshine day
That cries “Retire!” if Warwick bid him stay. 190 EDWARD
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,
And when thou fail’st—as God forbid the hour!—
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend. WARWICK
No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;
The next degree is England’s royal throne: 195
For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed
In every borough as we pass along,
And he that throws not up his cap for joy
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, 200
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets and about our task. RICHARD
Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it or to give thee mine. 205 EDWARD
Then strike up drums! God and Saint George for us! | It seems Richard's assessment of Warwick is right, because he wants to charge into London to make Henry honor his agreement with York. Edward (being York's eldest son) is the new Duke of York now, so that means that he should get the crown when Henry croaks. |
Enter a Messenger. WARWICK How now, what news? MESSENGER
The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
The Queen is coming with a puissant host,
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 210 WARWICK
Why, then it sorts. Brave warriors, let’s away! They all exit. | The men agree but are still discussing deets when a messenger enters with news from their brother George: Margaret is on the move and ready to attack them. Again. Warwick says they must be brave, and they all get ready for the attack. |