The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [14]
SALISBURY.
Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows.—
Sirrah, what's thy name?
PETER.
Peter, forsooth.
SALISBURY.
Peter? what more?
PETER.
Thump.
SALISBURY.
Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.
HORNER.
Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen;—and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow!
YORK.
Dispatch; this knave's tongue begins to double.—
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!
[Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes him down.]
HORNER.
Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.
[Dies.]
YORK.
Take away his weapon.—Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way.
PETER.
O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O
Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right!
KING.
Go, take hence that traitor from our sight,
For by his death we do perceive his guilt;
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to have murther'd wrongfully.—
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
[Sound a flourish. Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. A Street.
[Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks.]
GLOUCESTER.
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?
SERVINGMEN.
Ten, my lord.
GLOUCESTER.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess.
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.—
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people gazing on thy face
With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.—
But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.
[Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with SIR JOHN STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers.]
SERVINGMEN.
So please your Grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.
GLOUCESTER.
No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.
DUCHESS.
Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
See how the giddy multitude do point,
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
GLOUCESTER.
Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
DUCHESS.
Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
For whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice
To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
And when I start, the envious people laugh
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
No; dark shall be my light and night my day;
To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
Sometimes I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
And he a prince and ruler of the land;
Yet so he rul'd and such a prince he was
As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,
Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
With her that hateth thee and hates us all,
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false