Com’st thou with deep premeditated lines,

With written pamphlets studiously devised,

Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse

Or aught intend’st to lay unto my charge,

Do it without invention, suddenly;

As I with sudden and extemporal speech

Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Presumptuous priest, this place commands my patience,

Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour’d me.

Think not, although in writing I preferr’d

The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,

That therefore I have forged, or am not able

Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.

No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,

Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,

As very infants prattle of thy pride.

Thou art a most pernicious usurer,

Froward by nature, enemy to peace;

Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems

A man of thy profession and degree;

And for thy treachery, what’s more manifest,

In that thou laid’st a trap to take my life,

As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?

Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts are sifted,

The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt

From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe

To give me hearing what I shall reply.

If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,

As he will have me, how am I so poor?

Or how haps it I seek not to advance

Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?

And for dissension, who preferreth peace

More than I do, except I be provoked?

No, my good lords, it is not that offends;

It is not that that hath incensed the Duke.

It is because no one should sway but he,

No one but he should be about the King;

And that engenders thunder in his breast

And makes him roar these accusations forth.

But he shall know I am as good—

As good!

Thou bastard of my grandfather!

Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,

But one imperious in another’s throne?

Am I not Protector, saucy priest?

And am not I a prelate of the church?

Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,

And useth it to patronage his theft.

Unreverent Gloucester!

Thou art reverend

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Rome shall remedy this.

Roam thither, then.

My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

Ay, so the bishop be not overborne.

Methinks my lord should be religious,

And know the office that belongs to such.

Methinks his lordship should be humbler;

It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Yes, when his holy state is touch’d so near.

State holy or unhallow’d, what of that?

Is not his Grace Protector to the King?

[_Aside_.] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,

Lest it be said, “Speak, sirrah, when you should;

Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?”

Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,

The special watchmen of our English weal,

I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,

To join your hearts in love and amity.

O, what a scandal is it to our crown

That two such noble peers as ye should jar!

Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell

Civil dissension is a viperous worm

That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

What tumult’s this?

An uproar, I dare warrant,

Begun through malice of the Bishop’s men.

O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,

Pity the city of London, pity us!

The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester’s men,

Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

Have fill’d their pockets full of pebble stones

And, banding themselves in contrary parts,

Do pelt so fast at one another’s pate

That many have their giddy brains knock’d out;

Our windows are broke down in every street,

And we for fear compell’d to shut our shops.

We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,

To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.

Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we’ll fall to it with our teeth.

Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

You of my household, leave this peevish broil,

And set this unaccustom’d fight aside.

My lord, we know your Grace to be a man

Just and upright, and, for your royal birth,

Inferior to none but to his Majesty;

And ere that we will suffer such a prince,

So kind a father of the commonweal,

To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,

We and our wives and children all will fight

And have our bodies slaughter’d by thy foes.

Ay, and the very parings of our nails

Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

Stay, stay, I say!

And if you love me, as you say you do,

Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!

Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold

My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?

Who should be pitiful, if you be not?

Or who should study to prefer a peace

If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester;

Except you mean with obstinate repulse

To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.

You see what mischief and what murder too,

Hath been enacted through your enmity;

Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

He shall submit, or I will never yield.

Compassion on the King commands me stoop,

Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest

Should ever get that privilege of me.

Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke

Hath banish’d moody discontented fury,

As by his smoothed brows it doth appear.

Why look you still so stern and tragical?

Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach

That malice was a great and grievous sin;

And will not you maintain the thing you teach,

But prove a chief offender in the same?

Sweet King! The bishop hath a kindly gird.

For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent!

What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;

Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.

[_Aside_.] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.—

See here, my friends and loving countrymen,

This token serveth for a flag of truce

Betwixt ourselves and all our followers,

So help me God, as I dissemble not!

[_Aside_.] So help me God, as I intend it not!

O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,

How joyful am I made by this contract!

Away, my masters, trouble us no more,

But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

Content. I’ll to the surgeon’s.

And so will I.

And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,

Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet

We do exhibit to your Majesty.

Well urged, my Lord of Warwick. For, sweet prince,

An if your Grace mark every circumstance,

You have great reason to do Richard right,

Especially for those occasions

At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.

And those occasions, uncle, were of force;

Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is

That Richard be restored to his blood.

Let Richard be restored to his blood;

So shall his father’s wrongs be recompensed.

As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

If Richard will be true, not that alone

But all the whole inheritance I give

That doth belong unto the house of York,

From whence you spring by lineal descent.

Thy humble servant vows obedience

And humble service till the point of death.

Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;

And in reguerdon of that duty done

I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.

Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,

And rise created princely Duke of York.

And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!

And as my duty springs, so perish they

That grudge one thought against your Majesty!

Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!

[_Aside_.] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!

Now will it best avail your Majesty

To cross the seas and to be crown’d in France.

The presence of a king engenders love

Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,

As it disanimates his enemies.

When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;

For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

Your ships already are in readiness.

Ay, we may march in England or in France,

Not seeing what is likely to ensue.

This late dissension grown betwixt the peers

Burns under feigned ashes of forged love,

And will at last break out into a flame;

As festered members rot but by degree

Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,

So will this base and envious discord breed.

And now I fear that fatal prophecy

Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth

Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:

That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,

And Henry born at Windsor lose all,

Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish

His days may finish ere that hapless time.