Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.

What though the mast be now blown overboard,

The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,

And half our sailors swallowed in the flood?

Yet lives our pilot still. Is ’t meet that he

Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,

With tearful eyes add water to the sea

And give more strength to that which hath too much,

Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock,

Which industry and courage might have saved?

Ah, what a shame, ah, what a fault were this!

Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?

And Montague our topmast; what of him?

Our slaughtered friends the tackles; what of these?

Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?

And Somerset another goodly mast?

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?

And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I

For once allowed the skilful pilot’s charge?

We will not from the helm to sit and weep,

But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,

From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack.

As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.

And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?

What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?

And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?

All these the enemies to our poor bark?

Say you can swim: alas, ’tis but a while!

Tread on the sand: why, there you quickly sink;

Bestride the rock: the tide will wash you off,

Or else you famish; that’s a threefold death.

This speak I, lords, to let you understand,

If case some one of you would fly from us,

That there’s no hoped-for mercy with the brothers

More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.

Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided

’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit

Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,

Infuse his breast with magnanimity

And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.

I speak not this as doubting any here;

For did I but suspect a fearful man,

He should have leave to go away betimes,

Lest in our need he might infect another

And make him of the like spirit to himself.

If any such be here, as God forbid!

Let him depart before we need his help.

Women and children of so high a courage,

And warriors faint! Why, ’twere perpetual shame.

O, brave young Prince, thy famous grandfather

Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou live

To bear his image and renew his glories!

And he that will not fight for such a hope,

Go home to bed and, like the owl by day,

If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.

Thanks, gentle Somerset. Sweet Oxford, thanks.

And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand

Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

I thought no less. It is his policy

To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

But he’s deceived; we are in readiness.

This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

Flourish and march. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers.

Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood

Which by the heaven’s assistance and your strength

Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.

I need not add more fuel to your fire,

For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out.

Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!

Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say

My tears gainsay; for every word I speak

Ye see I drink the water of my eye.

Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,

Is prisoner to the foe, his state usurped,

His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,

His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent;

And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.

You fight in justice. Then, in God’s name, lords,

Be valiant and give signal to the fight.