All language subtitles for Hollow Crown s02e02 Henry VI Part 2.eng

.. know us by these colours for thy foes.

This pale and angry rose...

As symbol white of my blood-drinking hate.

Welcome, Queen Margaret.

My King.

Civil dissension is a viperous worm,

That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

I am far better born than is the King,

That gold should round
engirt these brows of mine.

Call forth our troops and
bid them arm themselves!

We shall return to wear our crown.

Boys!

Edward. George.

And... Richard!

My Lord! Your Highness...

The Duke of York with Warwick has set out

And with a puissant and a mighty power

Is marching hitherward in proud array.

They will be here by morning.

Where is the Queen?

She's with the Duke of Somerset within.

O...

.. could this kiss be printed in thy hand.

A wilderness is populous enough,

If I but had thy heavenly company.

For where thou art, there
is the world itself,

And where thou art not, desolation.

Yield or die, Somerset.

Father!

Base Suffolk!

Warwick calls!

Suffolk, I say, come
forth and fight with me!

Suffolk!

For one or both of us the time is come.

Hold, Warwick, seek you
out some other chase,

For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

Then, nobly, York; 'tis
for a crown thou fight'st.

Come, Suffolk. Defend thy rose!

I know thee, Somerset.

Obscure and lowly swain, away.

The honourable blood of Lancaster

Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.

Thou kennel, puddle, sink,
whose filth and dirt

Trouble the silver spring
where England drinks.

Thy lips that kissed the
Queen shall sweep the ground

For now the House of York
Burns with revenging fire.

It is impossible that I should die
By such a lowly vassal as thyself.

Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.

Ay, but my deeds shall stay thy fury soon.

What, are ye daunted
now? Now will ye stoop?

True nobility is exempt from fear.

Come, show what cruelty thou can'st,

That this my death may never be forgot.

Father!

Where's my father?

Suffolk!

Where's the Duke of Suffolk?

Father!

O, let the vile world end

And the promised flames of the last day

Knit earth and heaven together!

Even at this sight

My heart is turned to stone.

Henceforth I will not
have to do with pity.

In cruelty will I seek out my fame.

Somerset!

Somerset!

Somerset!

Somerset!

Think, Margaret, on
revenge and cease to weep.

But who can cease to
weep and look on this?

My hope is gone.

Alas, my Queen.

I fear me, love, if that I were dead

Thou wouldst not mourn so much for me.

Margaret...

God, our hope, will succour us.

Come, we must away from here.

We shall to London get,
where you are loved

And where this breach
now in our fortunes made

May readily be stopped.

Now, by my sword, thou
hast fought well today.

So have we all.

There is one old supporter of the King

Is either slain or wounded dangerously.

That this is true,
father, behold his blood.

Why, that's my son!

Did anyone see or hear
The fate of Somerset,

The foulest canker of the blood-red rose?

My Lord of York, here
is the Duke of Somerset,

Who I encountered ere the battle joined.

Speak thou for me and
tell them what I did.

What? Is Your Grace dead,
my Lord of Somerset?

What? Is Your Grace dead,
my Lord of Somerset?

Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head!

If it be true the King has fled to London,

We will pursue him there.

Sound drum and trumpets,
and to London all,

And more such days as these to us befall!

Richard!

Son!

Richard!

This is the palace of the fearful King,

And this the regal seat.

Possess it, York,

For this is thine and
not King Henry's heirs'.

Assist me, then, sweet
Warwick, and I will.

We'll all assist you;
he that flies shall die.

Thanks, gentle Vernon.

Stay by me, then, my Lords.

And when the King comes,
offer him no violence,

Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

The Queen this day here
holds her parliament,

But little thinks we
shall be of her council.

By words and blows here
let us claim our right.

The "Bloody Parliament"
shall it be called,

Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King,

And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice

Hath made us bywords to our enemies.

Then leave me not, my Lords, be resolute.

I mean to take possession of my right.

Neither the King

nor he that loves him best

Dares stir a wing if
Warwick shake his bells.

And I'll plant Plantagenet,
root him up who dares.

My son!

York and Warwick are here...

Resolve thee, Richard;
claim the English crown.

Look where the sturdy rebel stands.

What, shall we suffer this?

Let's pluck him down.

My heart for anger
burns; I cannot brook it!

Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmorland.

My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament

Let us assail the family of York.

Far be the thought of
it from Henry's heart

To make a shambles of
the Parliament-House.

Know you not the city favours them,

And they have troops of
soldiers at their beck?

But when the Duke is slain,
they will quickly fly.

Cousin of Exeter, frowns,
words and threats

Shall be the war that Henry means to use.

Thou, factious Duke of
York, descend my throne

And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet.

I am thy sovereign.

I am thine.

For shame, come down.

He made thee Duke of York.

It was my inheritance, as the earldom was.

Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown,

In following this usurping Henry.

Whom should he follow
but his natural King?

True, Clifford, and that's
Richard, Duke of York.

And shall I stand, and
thou sit in my throne?

It must and shall be so.

Content thyself.

Be Duke of Lancaster.

let him be King.

He is both King and Duke of Lancaster,

And that the Lord of
Westmorland shall maintain.

And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget

That we are those which
chased you from the field

And who slew your father,
youthful Clifford.

Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief.

Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,

Thy kinsmen and thy
friends, I'll have more lives

Than drops of blood were
in my father's veins.

Will we show you our title to the crown?

If not, our swords shall
plead it in the field.

What title hast thou,
traitor, to the crown?

Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York.

I am the son of Henry the Fifth,

Who made the Dauphin
and the French to stoop

And seized upon their towns and provinces.

Talk not of France, since
thou hast lost it all.

The Lord Protector lost it, and not I.

When I was crowned I
was but nine months old.

You are old enough now
and yet methinks you lose.

Father, tear the crown
from the usurper's head!

Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

Sound drums and trumpets,
and the King will fly!

Sons, peace.

Think'st thou that I will
leave my kingly throne,

Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?

No, first shall war
unpeople this my realm.

My title's good, and better far than his.

Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King.

Henry the Fourth by
conquest got the crown.

'Twas by rebellion against his King.

Richard resigned the crown
to Henry the Fourth,

Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

He rose against him and made him
to resign the crown perforce.

Suppose he did it unconstrained,

Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

No, for he could not so resign his crown,

But that the next heir
should succeed and reign.

Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

My conscience tells me he is lawful King.

All will revolt from me and turn to him.

What mutter you, or
what conspire you, Lords?

Do right unto this princely Duke of York,

Or I will fill the house with armed men,

And over the chair of
state, where now he sits,

Write up his title with usurping blood.

My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:

Let me for this my lifetime reign as King.

Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,

And thou shalt reign in
quiet while thou liv'st.

I am content.

Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy
the kingdom after my decease.

What wrong is this unto
the Prince, your son!

Base, fearful and despairing Henry!

How hast thou injured both thyself and us?

I cannot stay to hear these articles.

Come, cousin, let us tell
the Queen these news.

Farewell, faint-hearted
and degenerate King,

In whose cold blood no
spark of honour bides.

Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

They seek revenge and
therefore will not yield.

Ah, Exeter.

Why should you sigh, my Lord?

Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son

Whom I unnaturally now disinherit.
But be it as it may. I here entail

The crown to thee and
to thine heirs forever,

Conditionally, that here thou take an oath

To cease this civil
war, and, whilst I live,

To honour me as thy King and sovereign.

This oath I willingly
take and will perform.

Long live King Henry!

Long live King Henry.

And long live thou, and
these thy forward sons.

Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

Accursed be he that
seeks to make them foes.

Come, boys.

Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid

And never seen thee, never borne thee son,

Seeing thou hast proved
so unnatural a father.

Hadst thou but loved
him half so well as I,

Or felt that pain which
I did for him once,

Or nourished him as I did with my blood,

Thou wouldst have left thy
dearest heart-blood there,

Rather than have that
savage Duke thine heir

And disinherited thine only son.

Pardon me, Margaret;

The Earl of Warwick and
the Duke enforced me.

Enforced thee?

Art thou King, and wilt be forced?

I shame to hear thee speak.

Ah, timorous wretch.

Had I been there, which am a silly woman,

The soldiers should have
tossed me on their pikes

Before I would have granted to that act.

But thou prefer'st thy
life to thine honour.

And seeing thou dost,

I here divorce myself,

Both from thy table,
Henry, and thy bed till

That act of Parliament be repealed

Whereby my son is disinherited.

The Lords that have
forsworn thy coward colours

Will follow mine, to thy foul disgrace

And utter ruin of the House of York.

Thus do I leave thee.

Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Thou hast spoke too much already.

Though I be not the eldest, give me leave.

No. I can better play the orator!

But I have reasons strong and forcible!

Why! How now, sons?

At a strife?

What is thy quarrel?

How began it first?

No quarrel,

but a slight contention.

About what?

The crown of England,
Father, which is yours.

Mine, boy?

Not till King Henry be dead.

Your right depends not
on his life or death.

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.

I took an oath...

.. that he should quietly reign.

But for a kingdom any oath may be broken.

I would break a thousand
oaths to reign one year.

No. God forbid your
grace should be forsworn.

So I shall, if I claim by open war.

I will prove the opposite,
if you will hear me speak.

Thou canst not, son. It is impossible.

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 his place.

Then, since 'twas he that
made you to depose, your oath,

My Lord, is vain and frivolous.

Therefore, to arms.

Father, do but think how sweet
a thing it is to wear a crown.

Why do we linger thus?

I will not rest until the
white rose I wear is dyed

- Even in the lukewarm blood
of Henry's heart... - Richard!

Enough!

- My Lord!
- We shall speak more of this.

The Queen with all the
northern earls and lords

Intends here to besiege you in your house.

She is hard by, my Lord.

Edward and George, you
both shall stay with me.

Richard and Edmund, with thy mother fly.

Father, we will win them. Fear it not.

Plantagenet!

Come, son! Edmund!

Go, Richard! Look to thy mother.

Let's issue forth and bid
them battle straight.

Plantagenet!

Go to thy sister's house.

Do not look back. Edmund and
Richard will follow thee.

Come, Richard! Edmond!

Plantagenet!

- Go, Mother!
- Clifford approaches! Go!

Stay here, my Lords.
Conceal thyselves awhile.

- [Plantagenet!]
- Edmond! Richard!

Go, Mother, we will follow!

Plantagenet!

Thou brat of this accursed Duke of York,

Whose father slew my
father, thou shall die.

I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;

Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

Though speak'st in vain, poor boy;

My father's blood

hath stopp'd the passage
where thy words should enter.

The sight of any of the House of York

Is as a fury to torment my soul.

And till I root out their accursed line

And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

Therefore...

Let me pray,

let me pray before I take my death.

To thee I pray.

Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Pity?

Thy father slew my father.

Therefore, die.

Plantagenet, I come!

Plantagenet!

Plantagenet!

Come,

rough Westmorland.

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage.

I will not bandy with thee word for word,

But buckle with thee

blows twice two for one.

Hold!

Valiant Clifford!

For a thousand causes I would
prolong awhile the traitor's life.

Come,

make him kneel upon this dung hill here.

What...

what...

was it you that would be England's King?

Where is your mess of
sons to back you now?

Where is your darling Edmund?

A crown for York.

Look, York,

I stain this napkin with the blood

That valiant Clifford,
with his weapon's spike

Made issue from the neck of the young boy.

I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

Why art thou patient, man?

Thou shouldst be mad.

York cannot speak without a crown.

Hold you his hands,

whilst I do set it on.

Now looks he like a king.

Ay, this is he that
took King Henry's chair,

And this is he was his adopted heir.

But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crowned so soon and
broke his solemn oath?

As I bethink me,

you should not be King

Till our King Henry had
shook hands with death.

O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable.

Off with the crown, and
with the crown, his head!

That is my office, for my father's sake.

Nay, stay,

let's hear the orisons he makes.

She-wolf of France,

O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide.

There, take thy crown,

and with thy crown my curse

That in thy need such comfort come to thee

As I now reap from thy too cruel hand.

Hard-hearted Clifford,

take me from the world,

My soul to heaven,

my curse upon your heads!

Here's for my father's death!

And here's to right our
gentle-hearted King!

Here's to avenge beloved Somerset.

Off with his head.

Set it atop the city gates.

I wonder how our princely father scaped.

His sword.

See how the morning ope's her golden gates

Bids her farewell to the glorious sun.

Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

Three glorious suns...

.. each one a perfect sun,

Not separated by 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.

Now are they but one
lamp, one light, one sun:

In this, the heavens figure some event.

I think it cites us, brother...

.. to the field,

That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

Shall join our lights together

And over-shine the earth
as this the world.

But here comes one whose
heavy looks foretell

Some dreadful story hanging on his tongue.

My Lord,

I was a woeful looker-on

When as the noble Duke of York was slain.

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,

The ruthless Queen gave
him to dry his cheeks

A napkin

steeped in the harmless
blood Of sweet young Edmund,

by rough Clifford slain.

After many scorns, many foul taunts,

They took his head...

.. and high on the city
gates they set the same.

And there it doth remain.

The saddest spectacle that e'er I viewed.

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 the flower
of Europe for his chivalry.

Now my soul's palace is become a prison.

For never henceforth shall I joy again.

Never...

.. O never shall I see more joy!

I cannot weep.

Weeping is for babes...

.. blows and revenge for me.

Richard, I bear thy name;

and I will venge thy death
or die by attempting it.

His name that valiant
duke hath left with thee;

His dukedom and his chair with ME is left.

For the chair and dukedom...

.. throne and kingdom say;

Either they are thine,

or else thou wert not his.

How now, fair Lords?

Thou shalt know

this strong right hand of mine

Can pluck the diadem
from faint Henry's head

Were he as famous and as bold in war

As he is famed for
mildness, peace and prayer.

But in this troublous
time, what's to be done?

Shall we go throw our coats of steel away?

Or shall we

on the helmets of our foes

Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the last,

say, "Ay", and to it, Lords.

Why, therefore Warwick
came to seek you out,

Now, friends, to London will we march,

And once again cry,
"Charge!" upon our foes.

Lord Warwick,

on thy shoulder will I lean;

And when thou fail'st,

God forbid the hour,

Must Edward fall, which
peril heaven forfend!

No longer Earl of March,

but Duke of York;

The next degree is England's royal throne.

For King of England
shalt thou be proclaimed

In every borough as we pass along.

King Edward!

Welcome, my Lords.

Yonder's the head of that arch enemy

That sought to be
encompassed with your crown.

Doth not the object cheer
your heart, my Lord?

To see this sight

it irks my very soul.

Withhold revenge, dear God.

My gracious liege,

this too much lenity And
harmful pity must be laid aside.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

He, but a duke, would have his son a king.

Thou, being a king,

blest with a goodly son,

Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

Which argued thee a most unloving father.

Were it not pity

that this godly boy

Should lose his birthright
by his father's fault?

Look on the boy

and steel thy melting heart.

Clifford,

didst thou never hear

That things ill-got had ever bad success?

And happy

always was it for that son

Whose father for his
hoarding went to hell?

I'll leave my son my
virtuous deeds behind,

And would my father had left ME no more.

Ah,

cousin York,

would thy best friends did know

How it doth grieve me
that thou art thus slain.

My Lord, cheer up your spirits:

our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage
makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood
to our forward son.

Unsheathe your sword

and dub him presently.

Edward, kneel down.

Edward...

.. Ned...

Prince of Wales...

.. arise a knight,

And learn this lesson:

draw thy sword in right.

My gracious father,

by your kingly leave

I will defend our crown unto the death.

My liege...

Royal commanders, be in readiness,

For with a band of strongly armed men

Comes Warwick, backing
of the Duke of York,

Now Edward, made so by his father's death.

They all proclaim him King.

Prepare your battle, for they are at hand.

I would Your Highness
would keep from the field.

The Queen hath best success
when you are absent.

Ay, good, my Lord, and
leave us to our fortune.

Why, that's my fortune too...

.. therefore, I'll come.

Be it with resolution, then, to fight.

'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.'

Are you there, butcher?

Ay, crookback,

here I stand to answer thee.

'Twas you that killed my brother,

was it not? Ay,

This is the hand that
stabbed thy father York,

And here

is the hand that slew thy brother Edmund,

And this is the heart

that triumphs in their death.

Speak not spite,

For you shall sup with
Jesu Christ tonight.

Foul stigmatic,

that's more than thou canst tell.

If not in heaven, you'll
surely sup in hell.

Have at thee!

O, I fall.

Come, Richard...

.. I stabbed your father's bosom,

Now split my breast.

Dispatch me, Richard,

Have mercy...

.. and dispatch.

Disperse me, Richard -- have mercy!

Richard!

O...

.. O Henry...

.. hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,

Or as thy father and his father did,

I and ten thousand in this luckless realm

Had left no mourning widows for our death.

The foe is merciless

and will not pity.

Much effuse of blood doth make me faint.

Dispatch, Henry.

Dispatch...

This man, like me, a humble foot soldier

Now killed by me, will
have no use for coins.

Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.

Where are your crowns, old man?

Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold,

For I have bought it
with an hundred blows.

Who's this?

O God!

It is my father's face.

Heavy times, begetting such events!

That I...

.. who at his hands received my life,

Have by MY hands of life bereaved him.

Oh, no.

No, no...

It is my eldest son.

Pardon me, God...

.. I knew not what I did;

And pardon, father...

.. for I knew not thee.

O, pity, God, this miserable age!

O pity...

.. pity...

.. gentle heaven, pity!

I'll bear thee hence...

.. where I may weep my fill.

I'll bear thee hence...

.. and let them fight that will.

Would that I were dead...

.. if God's good will were so.

For what is in this world

but grief and woe?

Away, madam, away,

the King is missing.

York triumphs and wallows
in our spilt blood. Away!

All hail King Edward.

Now breathe we, Lords...

.. good fortune bids us pause

And smoothes the frowns of
war with peaceful looks.

Whose soul is that who
takes her heavy leave?

And now the battle's
ended, If friend or foe,

let him be gently used.

Revoke that doom of mercy...

.. for 'tis Clifford.

From off the city gates
fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which
Clifford placed there;

Instead whereof let HIS supply the room:

Measure for measure

must be answered.

Lift up that fatal
screech-owl to our house

That nothing sung but
death to us and ours.

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.

Clifford,

ask mercy and obtain no grace.

What, not an oath?

Nay, then the world goes hard
when Clifford cannot spare

an oath for his friends,

I know by that he's dead.

Off with the traitor's head,

Then to the palace

with triumphant march,

There to be crowned England's royal King.

Even as thou wilt, sweet
Warwick, let it be;

For in thy shoulder do I build my seat.

Richard,

I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,

George, of Clarence.

Warwick, as ourself,

Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

Now to London,

To see these honours in possession.

Now...

.. even of pure love,

I greet mine own land
with my wishful sight.

No, Harry...

.. Harry, 'tis no land of thine;

Thy place is filled,

thy sceptre wrung from thee,

Thy balm washed off
wherewith thou wast anointed.

No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,

No, not a man comes for redress of thee.

For how can I help them...

.. and not myself?

Let me embrace thee, sour adversaries

For wise men say it is the wisest course!

This is the former King;
let's seize upon him.

Forbear awhile.

O God!

Methinks it were a happy life, to
be no better than a homely swain,

Thereby

to see the minutes how they run,

How many make the hour full complete,

How many hours bring 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 days my ewes have been with young,

So many years ere I
shall shear the fleece.

So, minutes,

hours,

days, months and years,

Passed 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 embroidered canopy

To kings that...

that fear their subjects' treachery?

O, yes, it doth...

.. a thousandfold it doth.

Say...

.. what art thou that
talk'st of kings and queens?

More than I seem,

and less than I was born to:

For men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Ay...

.. but thou talk'st as
if thou WERT a king.

Why, so I am,

in mind, and that's enough.

If thou be a king,

where is thy crown?

My crown is in my heart...

.. not on my head: Nor to be seen.

My crown is called content,

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Well, if thou be a king
crowned with content

You must be contented

To go along with us.

God save King Edward, fourth of that name!

God save the King!

What is Your Lordship's
business in France?

To make the French King's
sister Edward's queen.

So shalt he sinew both
these lands together

And, having France our
friend, we shall not dread

The scattered foe that
hopes to rise again.

Thus Margaret used her state and birth

To gain sanctuary for her and her son

At the very heart of Louis' court.

King Louis cannot greatly sting to hurt,

Yet look to have him buzz
to offend thine ears.

He is a prince soon won with moving words.

King Louis hath been tainted with remorse

To hear and see her
plaints, her brinish tears,

Queen Margaret is a subtle orator.

The tiger will be mild
whiles she doth mourn.

Thou speaks't truth.

Farewell, my Lord.

Lord Hastings... farewell.

Good King of England, at Edgecote field

This lady's husband, Sir
Richard Grey, was slain,

His lands then seized on by Lancastrians,

Her suit is now to repossess those lands.

Your Highness shall do
well to grant her suit,

It were dishonour to deny it her.

Ugh! Well, widow, we will
consider of your suit

And come some other time to know our mind.

Right gracious Lord, I cannot brook delay.

May it please Your
Highness to resolve me now

And what your pleasure
is shall satisfy me.

I see the lady hath a thing to grant

Before the King will
grant her humble suit.

How many children hast
thou, widow, tell me?

One son, my gracious Lord.

'Twere pity he should
lose his father's lands.

Be pitiful, dread Lord, and grant it then.

Lords, give us leave.

Now, tell me, madam...

.. do you love your son?

Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

And would you not do much to do him good?

To do him good, I would sustain some harm.

Then get your husband's
lands to do him good.

Therefore I came unto Your Majesty.

What service wilt thou
do me, if I give them?

What you command that rests in me to do.

But you will take exceptions to my boon.

No, gracious Lord, except I cannot do it.

Ay, but thou canst do
what I do mean to ask.

Well, then, I will do
what Your Grace commands.

What stops my Lord,
shall I not hear my task?

An easy task -- 'tis but to love a king.

That's soon performed,
because I am a subject.

No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

Well, then, you mean not
as I thought you did.

To tell thee plain, I
aim to lie with thee.

To tell YOU plain, I had
rather lie in prison.

Why then, thou shalt not
have thy husband's lands.

Well, then, mine honesty
shall be my dower,

For by that loss I will not purchase them.

Therein thou wrong'st thy child mightily.

Herein Your Highness
wrongs both him and me

In thy suggestion I become thy whore.

You do mistake my meaning, lady.

Say that King Edward
take thee for his queen?

His queen, my Lord?

Sweet widow...

.. by my state, I swear to thee,

I mean no more than
what my soul intends...

And that is to enjoy thee for my love.

And that is more than I will yield unto.

List to me, widow...

I did mean my queen.

Welcome, brave Warwick!

What brings thee to France?

From worthy Edward, King of Albion,

I come in kindness and unfeigned love,

First, to crave a league of amity

And then to confirm that
friendship with a nuptial knot,

if thou vouchsafe to grant that
virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,

To England's King in lawful marriage.

King Louis and Lady Bona, hear me speak

Before you answer Warwick. His demand

Springs not from Edward's
well-meant, honest love,

But from... deceit...

.. bred by necessity,

For how can tyrants safely govern home,

Unless abroad they
purchase great alliance?

- Injurious, Margaret...
- And why not "queen"?

Because thy father Henry did usurp

And she is no more queen
than thou art a prince.

Why, Warwick, canst thou
speak 'gainst thy true King

And not betray thy treason with a blush?

For shame, Oxford, Leave
Henry and call Edward King.

No, Warwick, no,

While life upholds this arm,

This arm upholds the House of Lancaster.

And I the House of York!

Now, Warwick,

Tell me, even upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true King?

For I were loath

To link with him that
were not lawful chosen.

Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

Our sister shall be Edward's.

Ah!

Until today, Louis WAS Henry's friend.

And still is friend to him and Margaret.

And shall you have all kindness at my hand

That your estate requires
and mine can yield.

Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

My Lord of Warwick, this letter is
for you, sent from your brother.

This, from our King unto Your Highness.

And Margaret

This for you, from whom I know not.

Has your King married the Lady Grey?

Is this the alliance that
he seeks with France?

Dare he presume to scorn
us in this manner?

King Louis, I here
protest, in sight of heaven

That I am clear from
this misdeed of Edward's.

No more my King, for he dishonours me

But most himself if he
could see his shame.

Did I impale him with the regal crown?

Did I put Henry from his native right?

And am rewarded at the last with shame?

Shame on himself, for my desert is honour!

I here renounce him...

.. and return to Henry.

My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,

And henceforth I am thy true servitor.

I will revenge this wrong to Lady Bona

And replant Henry in his former state.

Warwick...

These words have turned my hate to love...

.. and I forgive and
quite forget old faults,

And joy that thou becom'st
King Henry's friend.

So much his friend, ay,
his unfeigned friend,

That if King Louis will
vouchsafe to furnish us

With some few bands of chosen soldiers,

I'll undertake to land them on our coast

And force the tyrant from his seat by war.

Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged

But by thy help to this distressed Queen?

You shall have aid.

Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

Then, England's messenger, return in post,

And tell false Edward

Thy supposed King,

That Louis of France
is sending over masquers

To revel it with him and his new bride.

Tell him

I am ready to put armour on.

Tell him from me that
he hath done me wrong,

Therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.

Warwick, answer me one doubt.

What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

This assures my constant loyalty.

That, if our Queen and
this young Prince agree...

I'll join mine youngest
daughter, Lady Anne

To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.

Yes...

I agree.

And thank you for your motion.

Son Edward...

Yes. I accept.

Now here, to pledge my
vow, I give my hand.

I long till Edward fall by war's mischance

For mocking marriage
with a dame of France!

Good shot, sire! Well played.

- Aah!
- Ooh!

Again.

Oh!

Well done.

Now, brother of Clarence,

how like you our choice of wife?

I am your King and I must have my will.

And shall have your
will, because our King.

Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

Yea, brother Richard,
are you offended too?

Not I, no.

God forbid that I should
wish them severed,

Whom God hath joined together!

Setting your scorns and
your mislike aside,

Give me some reason why thou disapproves

Of Elizabeth as my wife
and England's Queen.

Speak freely what you think.

Then, to have joined with
France in sound alliance

By marrying the proud King Louis' sister

Would more have strengthened
this, our commonwealth,

Than any home-bred marriage.

Ay, what of that?

It was my will and grant,

And for this once, my
will shall stand for law.

And yet methinks Your
Grace hath not done well

To give the heir and
daughter of Lord Scales

Unto the brother of your loving bride.

She better would have
suited me than Rivers.

Alas poor Clarence

Is it for a wife that thou art malcontent?

Well, I will provide thee.

And in choosing for yourself
you've shown your judgment,

Which being shallow,
you shall give me leave

To play the broker in mine own behalf.

And to that end I shortly
mind to leave you.

Leave me, or tarry,

Edward will be King and not be
tied unto his brother's will.

My Lord, their dislike, to
whom I would be pleasing,

Doth cloud my joys with
danger and with sorrow.

My love, forbear to
fawn upon their frowns.

What danger or what sorrow can befall you

So long as Edward is thy constant friend

And their true sovereign,
whom they must obey?

And they shall obey, and love thee too

Unless they seek for hatred at my hands.

My liege!

What letters or what news
from France Good Hastings?

And what answer makes King
Louis unto our letters?

"Go tell false Edward, thy supposed King,

"That Louis of France
is sending over masquers

"To revel it with him and his new bride."

Is Louis so brave?

But what said Henry's Queen?

For I am sure that she was there in place.

"Tell him," quoth she, "I
am ready to put armour on."

Belike she minds to play the Amazon.

But what said Warwick to these injuries?

He, more incensed against
Your Majesty than all the rest,

Sent to my liege these words,

"Tell him from me that
he hath done me wrong,

"And therefore I'll uncrown
him ere't be long."

Ha!

Durst the traitor breathe
out so proud words?

Well, I will arm me,
being thus forewarned.

They shall have wars and
pay for their presumption.

But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Ay.

Gracious sovereign, they
are so linked in friendship

That the young prince will
marry Warwick's daughter, Anne.

Now, brother King,
farewell, and sit you fast,

For I will hence to
Warwick's other daughter,

That, though I want a
kingdom, yet in marriage

May I not prove inferior to yourself.

My brother flies to Warwick?

Yet, am I arm'd against
the worst can happen,

And haste is needful
in this desp'rate case.

They are already, or
quickly will be, landed.

I need to levy men and make for war.

But ere I go, brother Richard...

Tell me if YOU love Warwick more than me.

If it be so, then go, depart to him.

I rather wish for foes
than hollow friends.

Will you stand by us?

Yay.

And in despite of those
that shall withstand you.

Trust me, my Lord, all hitherto goes well.

Ah...

The common people, by
numbers, swarm to us.

And see where Clarence waits.

Speak suddenly, my Lord,
are we all friends?

Fear not that, my Lord.

Then, gentle Clarence,
welcome unto Warwick.

I hold it cowardice

To rest mistrustful where a noble heart

Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love,

Else might I think that
Clarence, Edward's brother,

Were but a feigned
friend to our proceedings.

But welcome, George.

My younger daughter shall be thine.

My Lord!

Open the gate!

Open the gate for Lord Warwick!

Father.

Good Warwick.

After God, thou set'st me free.

He was the author, thou the instrument.

Therefore, that I may
conquer fortune's spite

And that the people of this blessed land

May not be punished by my thwarting stars,

Warwick...

.. although my head still wear the crown,

I here resign my government to thee,

For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

And I choose only Clarence for Protector.

Warwick and Clarence
give me both your hands.

Now join your hands, and
with your hands your hearts,

That no dissension hinder government.

I make you both protectors of this land,

While I myself will
lead a private life here

And spend my latter days in devotion,

To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.

We'll yoke together, like a double shadow

To Henry's body, and supply his place.

Then for the first of
all your chief affairs

Let me entreat, for I command no more,

That Margaret, your Queen

Be sent for, to return
from France with speed.

It shall be done, my
sovereign, with all speed.

And Exeter, what youth is that,

Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

My liege, it is young
Henry, Earl of Richmond.

After yourself and your
young son the Prince,

He is the last descendent
of old John of Gaunt.

He is the House of Lancaster.

Come hither, England's hope.

If secret powers

Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,

This pretty lad will prove
our country's bliss.

Make much of him, Lords.

Come, sit by me.

What counsel, Lords?

Let's levy men, meet Edward in the field.

Farewell, sweet Lords,
let's meet at Tewkesbury.

Of this young Richmond,

Forthwith I'll take him hence to Brittany,

Till storms be past of civil enmity.

It shall be so.

Halt!

We have come to parley with Warwick.

See where the surly Warwick sits.

O, unbid spite, is sportful Edward come?

Now, Warwick, wilt thou, as is thy duty,

Speak gentle words and
humbly bend thy knee

Call me thy King and
at my hands beg mercy?

Nay, rather, wilt thou
draw thy forces hence,

Confess who set thee up
and pluck'd thee down?

Call Warwick patron and be penitent

And thou shalt still
remain the Duke of York.

Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

I will do thee service for so good a gift.

'Twas I that gave the
kingdom to thy brother.

Why then 'tis mine, if
but by Warwick's gift.

Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down.

Kneel down!

Nay, when? Strike now,
or else the iron cools.

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,

And with the other fling it at thy face,

Than bear so low a sail.

And lo, where George of
Clarence sweeps along,

With whom an upright
zeal to right prevails

More than the nature of a brother's love!

Come, Clarence, come.

Thou wilt, if Warwick call.

Brother?

Father of Warwick, know
you what this means?

Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.

I will not ruinate my father's house,

Who gave his blood to
lime the stones together,

And set up Lancaster.

I am so sorry for my trespass made

That, to deserve well
at my brother's hands,

I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe.

With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee

To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.

And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee

And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.

Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends.

And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,

For I will henceforth
be no more unconstant.

Now welcome more, and
ten times more beloved,

Than if thou never hadst
deserved our hate.

Welcome, good Clarence,

this is brother-like.

O passing traitor, perjured and unjust.

What, Warwick, wilt thou
leave thy tent and fight?

Or shall we beat the
stones about thine ears?

Alas, I am not cooped here for defence.

I will unto the field presently,

And bid thee battle,
Edward, if thou darest.

Yes, Warwick, Edward
dares, and leads the way.

Come, Lords, to the field,

Saint George, and victory!

Forward!

Charge!

Argh!

Charge!

Charge!

It grieves me to see thee
once more a traitor, Clarence.

Come!

Why dost thou pause?

With thy brave bearing
should I be in love, Exeter

But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Nor should thy prowess
want praise and esteem,

But that its shows ignobly and in treason.

Ugh!

War hath given thee
peace, now thou art still.

Peace to his soul,
heaven, if it be thy will!

'Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge.

'Lo, now my glory smeared
in dust and blood.

'Why, what is pomp, rule,
reign, but earth and dust?

'And, live we how we
can, yet die we must.'

Warwick...

Ah, Warwick...

Warwick, wert thou as we are

We might recover all our loss again.

Look to my daughter, Oxford, look to Anne

And keep her safe.

I bid you farewell

to meet in heaven...

Ha! Victory for York!

Take her!

Hang the traitor.

Go, send him hence, I
will not hear him speak.

Come on.

God save King Henry!
God save Queen Margaret!

So part we sadly in this troublous world

To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem!

Lo where youthful Prince Ned comes.

Ned!

Bring forth the gallant,

Let us hear him speak.

What? Can so young a thorn begin to prick?

Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make

For all the trouble
thou hast turned me to?

Speak like a subject,
proud ambitious York.

Suppose that I am now my father's mouth.

Resign thy chair, and where
I stand kneel thou, traitor.

By heaven, wretch, we'll
plague thee for that word!

Peace, wilful boy, or I
will charm your tongue.

Untutored lad, thou art impudent.

I know my duty, you are all undutiful.

Lascivious Edward, and
thou perjured George.

And thou, misshapen Dick.

Ned!

I tell ye all I am your
better, traitors as ye are,

And thou usurp'st my
father's right and mine.

Take that!

Sprawl'st thou?

Take this, to end thy agony.

Kill me too!

Marry, and shall.

Hold, Richard, hold, for
we have done too much.

Why should she live, to
fill the world with words?

Excuse me to the King my brother,

I'll hence to London on a serious matter.

Ere ye come there, be
sure to hear some news.

What?

The Tower. The Tower.

Away with her. I charge
ye, bear her hence.

Nay, never bear me
hence, dispatch me here.

Here!

Away with her and waft
her hence to France.

Where's Richard gone?

To London all in haste and as I guess

To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.

Victory for York and victory for Edward

Now Duke of York, soon to be a king.

Would he were wasted,
marrow, bones and all,

That from his loins no
hopeful branch may spring

To cross me from the
golden time I look for.

I do but dream on sovereignty...

Like one that stands upon a promontory

And spies a far-off shore

So do I wish for the crown,

being so far off.

My eye's too quick, my
heart 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 witch sweet ladies
with my words and looks.

O!

O miserable thought,

and more unlikely

Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

Why, Love forswore me in my mother's womb,

And did corrupt frail
nature with some bribe,

To shrink mine arm up
like a withered shrub,

To place 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!

And am I then a man to be beloved?

O monstrous fault, to
harbour such a thought!

Then, since the earth
affords no joy to me,

I'll make my heaven to
dream upon the crown,

And, whiles I live, account
this world but hell.

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,

Seeking a way and straying from the way,

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 murder 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.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it farther
off, I'll pluck it down.

Good day, my Lord.

What, at your book so hard?

Sirrah, leave us to ourselves.

We must confer.

So flies the reckless
shepherd from the wolf.

What scene of death
hath we two now to act?

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind,

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Ah, kill me with thy
weapons, not with words!

My breast can better
brook thy dagger's point

Than can my ears that tragic history.

But wherefore dids't thou come?

Is't for my life?

Think'st thou I am an executioner?

A persecutor I am sure, thou art,

If murdering innocents be executing,

Why then, thou art an executioner.

Thy son I killed for his presumption.

Hadst thou been killed when
first thou didst presume

Thou hadst not lived
to kill a son of mine.

And thus I prophesy --
that many a thousand,

Men for their sons,
wives for their husbands,

Orphans for their
parents' timeless deaths,

Shall rue the hour that
ever thou wast born.

The owl shriek'd at thy
birth, an evil sign,

Dogs howled, and hideous
tempest shook down trees.

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

And, yet brought forth
less than a mother's hope,

To wit, an indigested and deformed lump.

Teeth hadst thou in thy
head when thou wast born,

To signify thou camest to bite the world.

And, if the rest be true which I have...

I'll hear no more! Die,
prophet in thy speech!

For this amongst the rest, was I ordained.

Ay, and for much more
slaughter after this.

O God, forgive my sins,

And pardon thee.

See how my sword weeps
for the poor King's death!

O may such purple tears be always shed

From them that wish the
downfall of our house.

If any spark of life be yet remaining,

Down, down to hell, and
say I sent thee thither,

I that have neither pity, love, nor fear.

Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of,

For often have I heard my mother say

I came into this world
with my legs forward.

Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,

And seek their ruin
that usurp'd our right?

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 gray-beards call divine,

Be resident in men like one another

And not in me.

I am myself alone.

'Once more we sit in
England's royal throne,

'Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.

'Thus have we swept
suspicion from our seat

'And made our footstool of security.'

Listen to me!

I am the Queen!

I am the QUEEN!

'Prince Edward, for thee,
thine uncles and myself

'Have in our armours
watch'd the winter's night,

'That thou might'st
repossess the crown in peace,

'And of our labours thou
shalt reap the gain.'

Clarence and Gloucester,

Kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

Thanks, noble Clarence.

Worthy brother, thanks.

And, that I love the tree
from whence thou sprang'st,

Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.

To say the truth, Judas kissed his master

And cried "All hail!"
when as he meant all harm.

Now am I seated as my soul delights,

Having my country's peace
and brothers' loves.

Sound drums and trumpets!
Hail the House of York!

For here I hope begins our lasting joy.

Long live Prince Edward!

Long live Prince Edward!

Long live Prince Edward!

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