Henry VI, Part II quotes

Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal. Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset.

Pride went before, ambition follows him.

While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman.

the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is’t to them?

’Tis thine they give away, and not their own.

Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone;

Enter Duke Humphrey and his wife Eleanor.

Why droops my lord, like over-ripen’d corn, Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load?

Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fix’d to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there?

What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?

Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be check’d.

Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.

Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume’s knavery will be the duchess’ wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey’s fall:

Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

Exit.

My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain’s isle, And this the royalty of Albion’s king? What, shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester’s governance?

Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke?

I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran’st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies’ hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion:

That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit.

Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

Enter Horner, the Armourer, and his man Peter, guarded.

Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God’s sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang’d.

Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we’ll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt.

By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.” Come, come, my lords;

These oracles are hardly attain’d, And hardly understood.

The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban’s, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works!

Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.

No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector’s hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch.

No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector’s hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch.

My lord, ’tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.

The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart!

When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?

I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban’s shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne’er saw in his life before.

Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban’s and his brethren, bearing Simpcox, between two in a chair, Simpcox’s Wife following.

Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so.

Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear.

Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible.

My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again?

Enter Gloucester and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks.

Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.

Sirs, what’s o’clock?

Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey.

My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can.

Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt.

By flattery hath he won the commons’ hearts, And when he please to make commotion, ’Tis to be fear’d they all will follow him.

Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman’s fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong’d the duke.

Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign’s fall.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason.

The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason.

The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.

No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

Ah, what’s more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow’d, For he’s disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he’s inclined as is the ravenous wolf.

Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?

Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest:

A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.

The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

it is not worth the enjoying: Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts. ’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me:

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men:

I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me: I take it kindly; and yet be well assured You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.

Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me: I take it kindly; and yet be well assured You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.

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;

Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: Unworthy though thou art, I’ll cope with thee And do some service to Duke Humphrey’s ghost. Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

A noise within.

Cease, gentle queen, these execrations And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch! Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?

So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; ’Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, Adventure to be banished myself:

And banished I am, if but from thee.

Go; speak not to me; even now be gone. O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn’d Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

no, rather let my head Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any Save to the God of heaven and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncover’d to the vulgar groom.

True nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear than you dare execute.

Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

So he had need, for ’tis threadbare.

Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.

O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation; which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magistrates.

Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.

I see them! I see them! there’s Best’s son, the tanner of Wingham—

A Clifford! a Clifford! we’ll follow the king and Clifford.

Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this multitude?

The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is no staying.

Was ever king that joy’d 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 long’d to be a king As I do long and wish to be a subject.

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford.

Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

It is great sin to swear unto a sin, But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.

Who can be bound by any solemn vow To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, To force a spotless virgin’s chastity, To reave the orphan of his patrimony, To wring the widow from her custom’d right, And have no other reason for this …