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this molehill will I sit me down。 To whom God will； there be the victory！
For Margaret my queen； and Clifford too； Have chid me from the battle；
swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence。 Would I were
dead； if God's good will were so！ 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；
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mistrust； and treason waits on him。
Alarum。 Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father； at one door； and a
FATHER that hath kill'd his Son； at another door
SON。 Ill blows the wind that profits nobody。 This man whom hand to
hand I slew in fight May be possessed with some store of crowns； And I；
that haply take them from him now； May yet ere night yield both my life
and them To some man else； as this dead man doth me。 Who's this？ O God！
It is my father's face； Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd。 O heavy
times； begetting such events！ From London by the King was I press'd forth；
My father； being the Earl of Warwick's man； Came on the part of York；
press'd by his master； And I； who at his hands receiv'd my life； Have by
my hands of life bereaved him。 Pardon me； God； I knew not what I did。
And pardon； father； for I knew not thee。 My tears shall wipe away these
bloody marks； And no more words till they have flow'd their fill。 KING
HENRY。 O piteous spectacle！ O bloody times！ Whiles lions war and battle
for their dens； Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity。 Weep； wretched
man； I'll aid thee tear for tear； And let our hearts and eyes； like civil war；
Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief。
Enter FATHER； bearing of his SON
FATHER。 Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me； Give me thy gold； if
thou hast any gold； For I have bought it with an hundred blows。 But let me
see。 Is this our foeman's face？ Ah； no； no； no； no； it is mine only son！ Ah；
boy； if any life be left in thee； Throw up thine eye！ See； see what show'rs
arise； Blown with the windy tempest of my heart Upon thy wounds； that
kills mine eye and heart！ O； pity； God； this miserable age！ What
stratagems； how fell； how butcherly； Erroneous； mutinous； and unnatural；
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget！ O boy； thy father gave thee life too
soon； And hath bereft thee of thy life too late！ KING HENRY。 Woe above
woe！ grief more than common grief！ O that my death would stay these
ruthful deeds！ O pity； pity； gentle heaven； pity！ The red rose and the white
are on his face； The fatal colours of our striving houses： The one his purple
blood right well resembles； The other his pale cheeks； methinks；
presenteth。 Wither one rose； and let the other flourish！ If you contend； a
thousand lives must perish。 SON。 How will my mother for a father's death
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Take on with me； and ne'er be satisfied！ FATHER。 How will my wife for
slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears； and ne'er be satisfied！ KING
HENRY。 How will the country for these woeful chances Misthink the
King； and not be satisfied！ SON。 Was ever son so rued a father's death？
FATHER。 Was ever father so bemoan'd his son？ KING HENRY。 Was ever
king so griev'd for subjects' woe？ Much is your sorrow； mine ten times so
much。 SON。 I'll bear thee hence； where I may weep my fill。 Exit with the
body FATHER。 These arms of mine shall be thy winding…sheet； My heart；
sweet boy； shall be thy sepulchre； For from my heart thine image ne'er
shall go； My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell； And so obsequious
will thy father be； Even for the loss of thee； having no more； As Priam was
for all his valiant sons。 I'll bear thee hence； and let them fight that will； For
I have murdered where I should not kill。 Exit with the body KING
HENRY。 Sad…hearted men； much overgone with care； Here sits a king
more woeful than you are。
Alarums； excursions。 Enter QUEEN MARGARET； PRINCE OF
WALES； and EXETER
PRINCE OF WALES。 Fly； father； fly； for all your friends are fled；
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull。 Away！ for death doth hold us in
pursuit。 QUEEN MARGARET。 Mount you； my lord； towards Berwick
post amain。 Edward and Richard； like a brace of greyhounds Having the
fearful flying hare in sight； With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath； And
bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands； Are at our backs； and therefore
hence amain。 EXETER。 Away！ for vengeance comes along with them。
Nay； stay not to expostulate； make speed； Or else come after。 I'll away
before。 KING HENRY。 Nay； take me with thee； good sweet Exeter。 Not
that I fear to stay； but love to go Whither the Queen intends。 Forward；
away！ Exeunt
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King Henry VI； Part 3
SCENE VI。 Another part of the field
A loud alarum。 Enter CLIFFORD； wounded
CLIFFORD。 Here burns my candle out； ay； here it dies； Which；
whiles it lasted； gave King Henry light。 O Lancaster； I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul！ My love and fear glu'd many
friends to thee； And； now I fall； thy tough commixture melts； Impairing
Henry； strength'ning misproud York。 The common people swarm like
summer flies； And whither fly the gnats but to the sun？ And who shines
now but Henry's enemies？ O Phoebus； hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds； Thy burning car never had
scorch'd the earth！ And； Henry； hadst thou sway'd as kings should do； Or
as thy father and his father did； Giving no ground unto the house of York；
They never then had sprung like summer flies； I and ten thousand in this
luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death； And thou this
day hadst kept thy chair in peace。 For what doth cherish weeds but gentle
air？ And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity？ Bootless are
plaints； and cureless are my wounds。 No way to fly； nor strength to hold
out flight。 The foe is merciless and will not pity； For at their hands I have
deserv'd no pity。 The air hath got into my deadly wounds； And much
effuse of blood doth make me faint。 Come； York and Richard； Warwick
and the rest； I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms： split my breast。 ＇He faints＇
Alarum and retreat。 Enter EDWARD； GEORGE； RICHARD
MONTAGUE； WARWICK； and soldiers
EDWARD。 Now breathe we； lords。 Good fortune bids us pause And
smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks。 Some troops pursue the
bloody…minded Queen That led calm Henry； though he were a king； As
doth a