King Henry VI, Part 3

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

My Crown is in my heart, not on my head: Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian stones: Nor to be seen: my Crown is call'd Content, A Crown it is, that seldom Kings enjoy.

Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions

For trust not him that hath once broken faith

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basalisks; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Decieve more slily that Ulysses could, And like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colors to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward: Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd and the women cried 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' And so I was; which plainly signified That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which graybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another And not in me: I am myself alone.

Why then I do but dream on sovereignty, Like one that stands upon a promontory And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off, And so I chide the means that keeps me from it, And so, I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities, My eye's too quick, my hear o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; And for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub, To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size, To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd? O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought! Then since this earth affords no joy to me But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And whiles I live, t' account this world but hell, Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home; And I - like one lost in a thorny wood, That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out - Torment myself to catch the English crown; And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murther whiles I smile, And cry "Content" to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall, I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk, I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And like a Simon, take another Troy. I can add colors to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murtherous Machevil to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY: To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.

I would Your Highness would depart the field, the Queen hath best success when you are absent.

Now my soul's palace is become a prison; Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never, shall I see more joy!

For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! 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.

Would I were dead, if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe?

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Off with his head and set it on York gates, so York may overlook the town of York.

I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.

I rather wish you foes than hollow friends

prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I could set my ten commandments in your face.

Let them obey that knows not how to rule.

Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, Being opposites of such repairing nature. York: I know our safety is to follow them; For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, To call a present court of parliament. Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them? Warwick: After them! nay, before them, if we can. Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: Saint Alban's battle won by famous York Shall be eternized in all age to come. Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all: And more such days as these to us befall!

Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand.

Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou hast hanged them; when, indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy to live.

Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine

O, let the vile world end, And the premised flames of the last day

A subtle traitor needs no sophister

Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven

O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd Embrace and kiss and take thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

Well could I curse away a winter's night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!

Dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell

Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death

Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes, My body round engirt with misery, For what's more miserable than discontent? Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see The map of honour, truth and loyalty: And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith. What louring star now envies thy estate, That these great lords and Margaret our queen Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; And as the butcher takes away the calf And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, Even so remorseless have they borne him hence; And as the dam runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went, And can do nought but wail her darling's loss, Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes Look after him and cannot do him good, So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.

Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden circuit on my head, Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.

Sunt mult mai mult decât ceea ce par Și mai puțin decât ar trebui.

Was ever King that joyed an earthly throne and could command no more content than I? No sooner was I crept out of my cradle but I was made a king at nine months old. Was never subject longed to be a king as I do long and wish to be a subject.