 Thanks to God that He calls me when I am of perfect reminiscence. This I say, my brethren and loving friends, if you love me, you are to love my child. Not for his desert, but for mine. I charge you all to render your allegiance unto my son, King Henry VI. Watching me estate in my realm, I command you to love and join together in one league and one unfaithful anity. I will that my brother, Humphrey, shall be protector of England during the minority of my child. And I command Lord Talbot, with fire and sword, to persecute Charles, calling himself Dothan, to expel him utterly from our realm of France. What I have gotten, I charge you, keep it. I command you, defend it. And I design you to nourish. May the Lord hear the good news. Enter the event you. And I pray to Christ here, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, to live in the kingdom of God, for all that is sacred. In heaven's good blood, ye of day to night, comets and warning, change of tithes and states, brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, and with them scourge the bad, revolting stars, that have consented unto it any state. King Henry V, too famous to live on. What shall I say? His deeds exceed our speech. He never lift up his hand but conquer it. He was the king blessed and the king of kings. The bow of the Lord's hosts, he fought. The church's bread made him so proud. Church no grain, his thread of life are not so soon decayed. None do you like but an offended prince, whom like a schoolboy you may overall. And also with hair we lie, though our protector and look is to command the prince and the realm. Cease, cease these stars and master my disease. Henry V, thy ghost, thy anchor cage, prospered this realm, will keep it to its silver oils. A far more glorious star thy soul shall make then. Julius Caesar. My honorable lord, talk to you all. Sad tidings bring unto you out of France, of loss, of slaughter, and of expenditure. Gaen, Comkania, Rouen, Rhines, Orlines, Bordeaux, G-stars, Poches, are all quite lost. How they lost, what treachery was used? No treachery but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is, Madrid, that here you maintain several factions, and whilst the bill should be dispatched, but you are disputing amongst your generals. Away await English nobility. Let not sloth, give your honors, new begot. Crop are the floor deloses in your arms, of England's coat, one half is cut away. The English army has grown weak and faint, and brave lord told it, crave it, fresh supply. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry's swore, either to quell the doper utterly, or bring him in obedience to your yoke. Onto the tower with all the haste I can to view the artillery ammunition. And when I was to claim young Henry King to help the war, what young King is, three more being the special governor, and more to safety there, I'll best advise. Each, how this place is functioned, to attend, I am left out. To me, nothing remains. But, sir, keep, and suppress the Prince, and to see he did. And stop it, say, if I maintain the truth, or else was wrangling some sense of the air, be it. I am not sure it is a lie. Judge, I muddle the work that between us. So, when all these nice sharp bullets of the law of good faith, I am no wiser than a doll. Since you are con-time, and so low to speak, indulge significance, proclaim your thoughts. Let him that is a true ball, gentlemen, if he suppose that I have pleaded truth, from of this prayer, that the wet rose with me, let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, but dare maintain the party of the truth, but the wet rose, from of this thorn, with me. I love no color, and with that all color of peace, insinuating flattery. I've got this white rose with one touch in it. And what the rare rose with young Thomas said here, and say with all, I think he held the right. Say it, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more, until you include that he upon whose side, and fewest roses apart from the tree, shall yield the other in the right opinion. Good Master Berman, it is well-objected. If I am furious, I subscribe in silence, and am I. Then, for the truth and blameness of the case, I pluck this pale and the pale last year, give him my very own blue white rose. Trick him up your finger, and you pluck it off, lest the bleeding do paint the white rose red and full. Ah! Let's go against your will. Now, Thomas said, where is your argument? In my stubborn, meditating that shall die, your white rose is leaving you in. Here I have no cheeks to counterfeit our roses, for pale and no proof of fear, as witness in the truth, find out that no one does let us not be feared, but anger, that thy cheeks blush, with a count of bit more roses. And yet, thy tongue will not confess thy error. That's not my pale rose, eh, canker, because I'm a seconder. That's not my rose, eh, all of a sudden. Hey, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth. Well, I'll find friends to maintain what I have said is true. Ah! That brave, dismaying, blushing rose in my hand, I scorn thee in thy faction, cleavish boy, away from grace to yeoman by conversing with him. Now, by God's will, thou roost in some sex. His grandfather was lying in the boot of Clarence, third son to the third, Edward King of England, three breastless yeoman through some deeper roost, was not my father, Richard, Duke of York, for treason. Executed in all late King's day, a body's treason, stateless, not unattain't it. My father was a taxing unattain't it, conented by the cruiser, and no treason, and no proof that I'm better than a son of it. Oh, thou shalt findest ready for thee still, and knowest by these colours thy foes, for these, my friends, in spite of thee shall wear. And by my soul, this pale and angry rose has obviously to my blood-drinking hint, will I forever in my faction wear, until it widows me to my brain, or flourish to the height of my degree. Go and be choked with thy ambition, and so farewell. And with thee something farewell, ambitious York. Thou, I am braved, and must perforce endure it. Let me get to satisfy myself by craving your opinion of my title, which is infallible to England's. Your begin, and if thy claim be good, then war it is thy subject to command. I claim, my right, by birth and parentage. For by my mother, I derive an am from Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son to King Edward III, while Henry, from John of Gorge, does trace his every thing but four of acts of rowing. My son, if the issue of the eldest son succeeds before the younger, I am King. Plain proceedings is more plain than this. Henry doth claim the ground of John of God, the fourth son, your claims it from the third. And so in signal of my love to thee, while I upon thy party wear this rose, my heart assures thee, that the Earl of War shall one day make the Duke of York a king. Why did I do a show myself? Richard shall live to make the Earl of War the greatest man in England but. And here I prophesy this brawl today, brawl to the stature and the scumble garden, to one day ascend between the red rose and the white, a thousand souls to death and deadly knights. Come, let's eat the dinner. I dare say this quarrel will drink blood another day. Stay, sir. There's thou, in ten formal words, thou spaced against my lord, the Duke of Somerset. Surah, the Lord I honor, I see his. Why? What is he? As good a man as you're. How can you not so? With a sticky neck. Then art to his majesty and crave that I may have liberty to avenge this wrong. Then, when thou shall see, I'll meet thee tonight, Coss. Well, Mr. Andrew, you have as soon as you're after me, too, sooner than you were. My invention, suddenly, as I, with a sudden and temporal speech, purports to answer what thou cast. This place commands my patience, for thou shalt find I must disarm and be. My lord, sir, if no one should sway but you, know that you should be about the king but you shall know. Then I, an as good, as good. Thou bastard of my grandfather. I, lordly, sir, was how you, but what imperious in another's realm, eminent protector, saucy prince, my reverent gloss, right? Thou, much reverent, is touching my spiritual function, not that right. Role will ring, it roams in a name! Who's the bluster of Winchester, the special watchman of our English wheel? I would prevail in prayers, my prevail, to join your hearts in love and enmity. Oh, 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 lifeless worm that gnaws the barrels of the Commonwealth. Yield, my lord, protector, yield, Winchester. Ye shall submit, or I will never yield. Compassion on the king commands me stupid. Behold, my lord, Winchester, the duke has banished moving distance in the fury. Why, look, ye still so stern and tragical. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. Fireful buffered, however ye preach, that malice was a great and grievous sin. Well, ye not maintained it, then ye teach. Well, shame, my lord, the breecher said I relents. What, so was... Child, in a sturkey word to do. Well, do you, bluster, I yield to thee, love, for thy love hand for hand I give, so I am going to fear thee with the whole heart. So help me, God, as I disemble not. But, if ye, God, as I be, bend it not. God, lo, my God, for I am duke of bluster, how joyful am I being by this contract. My lord, you may be the commandant, Prince of Southing. And me, my lord, gladly come up to, and this is my son here, and this is my sweet Henry-favourite. Be patient, lords, get nothing to see. Heard this fellow here, when envious carping-tug unbraided me about the rose I wear, saying the sanguine colour of the leaves did represent my master's blushing cheeks, in computation of which rude reproach, and in defence of my lord's worthiness, I crave the benefit of the law of arms. And that is my petition, noble lord, for he first took exceptions at this stage, pronouncing the prowess of this flower, and he reigned the fitness of my master's heart. Well, must this malice-summerset be left, your private grudge, my lord of York, with alchemy, so commonly you smother it? You've got to use both of York and Summerset, quiet yourselves, I pray, and be pleased. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, and then your hideous chakramana, haste the quarrel, touch of the number, us alone, to exult ourselves beside it. I'll be prudent and presumptuous, that's all why you're not ashamed. With this immodest plunderous outrage, you're troubled and disturbed, the king and us. And you, my lord, we think you do not well, to bear their perverse objections, much less to take occasion from their mouths, to raise a new neighbor, trickst yourselves, let me persuade you, take a better course. The breeze is high, and super-lord's fever. Let me be umpire in this doubtful stride. I see no reason, if I wear this rose, that anyone should therefore be suspicious, I mourn to find the summer set in your bone, are my kinsmen, have I loved them? Oh, cousin of York, we institute your grace to be our region in our realm of friend. Oh, my lord. And a good model of the summer set, unite your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot. Go gently together, and digest your angry color on our enemies. I understand. I remain march, in the northern france, without seeing what a flag we consume. This late dissension, probably be tricks that Peter's burns under plain dashes of forged love, and will inside break out into a flame. Now I fear that fatal prophecy, which in the time of Henry the Fifth, was in the mouth of every sucking banger. Henry, born of one month, should win all, and Henry, born of Windsor, should lose all. Which is so plain, Exeter doth wish his days may finish here at half this time. Open your city gates, and do him homage as obedience of debts, and I'll withdraw me and my bloody power. But if you forsake the author of this proper peace, you tempt the fury of my free attendance. Lean famine, quartering steel, and crying fire, who in a moment, even with the earth, shall lay here stately in air-braining towers. If you forsake the author of their love. Our ominous and fearful out of debt, our nation's terror and our bloody scourge, the period of thy tyranny approaches, on either hand ye, there are squadrons fixed to wall thee from the liberty of thy flesh, and no way canst thou turn, but death doth front thee with a parent's spool, and pale destruction meet thee in thy face. The govind's drums, a warning band, sings heavy music to thy demerit's door, and mine shall bring thy down to puncture out. Negligent and heedless discipline, how we are parked and bounded in a pale, a little herd of England's generous deer, maize with a yelping kill of French curds, and his life as deer as mine, and they shall find, and it's dangerous, they're going to live here for the siege, or should I be any of the leader of our English strength, spurred to the rescue of Robletown, who is that girl with the waist of iron and headed about with grim destruction? God, that's some assit, we're in hellbath, and I, my horseman, will I in Talbot's place, then might we say they know well, gentlemen, by forging a traitor and a coward? Send some sucker to the distressed lord. He dies. We lose. I break my war at work. We mourn French smiles. We lose. They daily get along with his father, traitor, some assit. God, take mercy on brave Talbot's soul. And on his son, young John, who drew our sins, I've been in trouble toward his warlike father. The seven years did not Talbot see his son, now they meet for both their lives are done. Except for one. No more my fortune can, but curse the cause, I cannot help the man. The main party, Roy, and Tours, are one away, the whole of Somerset and his delay. Vulture of sedition feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, sleeping in collections of betrayed and lost, the conquest, our scarce cold conqueror, the never-living man of every ever thing, while they, each other across lives, honors, lands, and all, hurry to lost. Gah! Yeah! Ah, yeah! Oh, yeah! symphony, that turnerly in stratageons of war now that I've come into a piece of death. Therefore, your boy, mount my swiftest horse, and I'll leave you the right to have that south estate on such a flight. Come, now I'm not be gone. Is my name Tobin? And am I your son? And shall I fly? This is not my mother. The world will say he is not Tobin's blood that basically played when the normal Tobin stewed. Fly to revenge my death if I be slain. Fly, so we'll never turn again. Stay, go, and do what you will. The like do I. For live I will not if my father dies. And here I take my leave of thee, fair son. Fall into a cliff, as I like. Whither my lord, from bot, and so Lord Tobin, who ringed about with bold adversity, cries out for help from York and Somerset. It is too late to go, I don't know. The expedition was by York and Talbot to Ratchley Plot. The origin Talbot has settled on the boss of former glory with his unheated, desperate, wild adventure. York set him on to fight and die in shame. The tomb of dead great York might bear the name. Let not your private discord keep away the living sufferer that should lend him the aid. York set him on, York should have sent him aid. And York is fast upon your brazen exclaims, for a miracle has led the horse collected for this expedition. York lies. He might have sent and had the horse. I owe him little duty and less love, and take foul scorn to fall on him by sending. The fraud of England and not the force of threat have now entrapped the normal-minded Talbot. No demon shall he bear his life, but dies between the fortune by your strife. Come, come. I will dispatch the horse and strike within six hours until I shall be able to lay. Should lay comes rescue. He's either tamed or slain. Well, if he'd be dead, I'd talk with them at you. His fame lives in the world. His shame in you. It's my other life. When I was gone, with his eye fury and great rage apart, suddenly made him from my side to start. It was a clustering battle of a frankie. And in that sea of blood, my boy did drench his over-mounting spirit. And thereby night it cursed, but it wasn't. He's proud. Oh, where this young Talbot, bear his belly from death, smeared with captivity young Talbot's valor. Makes me smile a laugh, whose wounds become hard-fitted. Speak to my father-in-law that you'd like to your king-longer bear these arms. Soldiers, adieu. I have what I would have. Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. Oh, there is beauty, you're not fear, for I will touch thee, but with reverence. Who art thou, say, that I might honor thee? Laud with my name, indulge before king, the king of vehicles who swear to art. And, earl, I am in Suffolk. Am I called? Be not offended, nature's miracle. Thou art allotted to be tamed by me. But if this herbal usage ones effect, go and be freed in, as Suffolk's friend. O stand! I have no power to let her pass. My hands will be free of all my thoughts. No. Say earl of Suffolk, if I may be. So what randison must I be before I pass, for I have received my entire business? She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed. She is a woman, and therefore to be won. Look, thou, a consented randison, ye or no? Well, then, remember that thou hast a wife. How then can't Margarita be that fair woman? He talks random, sure the man is mad. I'll rule the lady, Margarita, for whom? My father king! Thou says all those things. He talks of what? It is some carpenter. Madam, I have a son, Margarita, but what more I may fall than he seems. And, thank you, well, that any would be some of me. Lady, thou say, then listen what I say. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French, and then I need not sleep. Sweet man, if you be here, I'm going to call. Touch, women, I've been captivated. Lady, wait for talk, you son! I, why, you must, if I wait for a while. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose your bondage happy to be made a queen? To be a queen in bondage is more vile than it's a slave to base civility, for princes should be free. And so shall you. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen, to put a golden scepter in thy hand, set a precious crown upon thy head, and if thou wilt come to send me to thee mine. What? His love. I am a worthy to thee, Henry's wife. No, sweet madam, I am worthy, and who so fair a day to thee is wife. I'll say you, Margaret, are you so intent. And if my father leaves, I am in that. I'll create a parlay to confer with him. Farewell, sweet madam, but hark ye, Margaret. No, um, princely commendation to my king. Such commendation has become the maid of Virgin, and he is certain to say to him, Well, madam, I was told you again, no loving tokens for his majesty. Yes, my good lord, a pure, unspotted heart, never yet tamed with love, I send for king. And this will go, for I would not so presumed to send such peagish tokens to a king. At some extent, I may start wondering that labyrinth, there have been a toast and only treason to learn. So listen, Henry, with her wondrous praise, that may bereave him of his wits with wonder, for so my fancy shall be satisfied, and peace establish it between these realms. Margaret shall be queen, and rule the king, but I will rule both her, the king, and realm. It intends is this, they humbly soar to your excellence to have a godly peace concluded up between the realms of England and of France. That's a great effect, my lord. Realm, my lord, and thus the only means to stop effusion of our Christian blood. My, my young lord, where I always thought it was both impious and unnatural, that such a vanity bloody strife should gul among professors of one faith. You are wondrous red description of our beautiful Margaret that has starved for me. And once more she is not so divine, so full replete with choice of all delights, but with the humble loathing of her mind she is content to be at your command. And an individual is chaste in tents, to love and honor Henry as her lord. Otherwise would Henry have to do. Therefore, my lord, protect her, give consent that Margaret may be England's royal queen. So should I give consent as to the plan of sin? You know, my lord, your kindness is betrothed unto another lady ever seen. How shall we then dispense with that contract? As does the real face your honor with reproach. As does the ruler with the noble oaths, which therefore may be probed without offence. A poor oath's done. Is an equal arm. Why, what I pray is Margaret more than that. Oh, yes, my lord, her father is a king, the king of Naples in Jerusalem, and of such great authority and trance that his alliance will confirm our peace and keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. And you, my lord, and you conclude with me that Margaret may be England's royal queen. Go, son, and bring her to our presence straight, and you, good uncle, manage all the debts. The inside of England deliver up the lady Margaret, the happiest gift that ever Margaret's gave, the fairest queen that ever came to see. Sucker eyes, welcome, Queen Margaret. I can express no kinder son of love than this kind kiss. Oh, lord, that lends me life. Thank you, your honor, and please, with thankfulness, for thou has given me in this beautiful space a world of earthly blessings to my soul. Give the civility of love in our hearts. Great king of England and my gracious lord, the mutual conference that my mind have had by day, by night, waking and in my dreams. In courtly company or at my deeds, with you, my elderly best sovereign, makes me the bolder to salute my king with rudor terms, such as my wit apports, and overjoy of a heart-stopped minister. O slightly rarish, but our grace in speech may speak from wondering. For do we rejoice, such as the fullness of my heart's indebted lords, with one cheerful voice, welcome, my love. Long live, Queen Margaret. England's happiness. Between our sovereign and the French King Charles, for 18 months, included by consent. In Christmas, it is agreed between the French King Charles and William Bill of Holt, Marquis of Suffolk, and Ambassador to Henry, King of England. Let us say, Henry shall be espoused to the Lady Margaret, daughter of Duvenay, king of Naples, the city of Jerusalem, and the crown of Her Queen of England. I am the Duchy of Holt, you, and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered unto the King of... What? Uncle, how now? I mean, my lords, on some call, that struck me at the heart, and did to my eyes, and I can read no further. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, we long. I doth. His further agreement between them, that the Duchies of Holt, you, and Maine, will be released to deliver to the King, her father. She, said over, of the King of England's own proper costs and charges, without having any dowry. They please us well. Lord Marquis, kneel down. We here to create thee the first Duke of Suffolk, and gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, we here at this charge, your grace, shall be regent in the wards of France, till term, at eighteen months, people expire. My lords, we thank you all for entertainment, to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed, provide to see her coronation be of war. Who is of the state to you, do come, for he must unload his grief. Your rich, the common grief of all the land, what did my brother, him, spend his youth, his valor coin, and people in the wards, to conquer France, his true inheritance. Have you yourselves, Somerset, York, and Warwick, received deep scars in France, and Normandy, to keep by strategy, what every got? Or have my uncle, both of us, and myself, with all the learned counsel of the realm, studied so long, to bring me to and fro, how France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, and shall these labours and these honours die? Appears in England, shameful is this league, fatal this marriage, canceling your pain. Undoing all, as all had never been. Wise, passionate discourse is pure asian, but thy document of France is ours, and we will keep inside of uncle, we will keep it, if we can, but now it is impossible we should. Suffolk, when you may do the rules, the roost, gives away the duchy about you and me. Now I have done the thine for all these counties, where the king is with Normandy. Suffolk's duke may he be suffocated, that dims the honour of this warlike isle. It's all our travel that turns to this effect. After the slaughter of so many men, that sow their bodies for their country's benefits, shall we at last conclude a effeminate peacehold, why inquiric, and we'll see with grief the utter loss of all our realm of France. Never read, but England's kings had watched sons of gold and dowries with their wives, and our King Henry gives away his own, the matter of her who brings our bandages. She should have stayed in France and starved. My Lord, I lost her, now ye grove too hard. It was a letter of my Lord, be ye. Come, my Lord of Winchester, I know your mind. It is not my speeches that you do mislike, it is my presence that doth trouble ye. Ranko, no out front, for that you keep in my face, I see thy hearing. If my Lord could stay, we shall begin our ancient bickering. Lord, inch farewell, and say when I am gone, I promise I, French, will be lost now. So, remember to you that he is mine, and that he nay more an enemy unto you all, and no great friend to the king, my dear. Consider it, boys, he ye the next of blood. There, a parent to the evening's strap, and what though the common people favorite, him calling him Humphrey, good to do the call, sir, I, Henry, Lord, for all this blackering loss, he will be bound to be a dangerous protector. Why should he then protect our sovereign, he being of age to govern of himself? My cousin and son has said joy ye with me, and all together we do the silent, and we will quickly make good public, up from his seat. This way the business will not do that. Let us do the good, let us start, take the presence, then. Yes. As one of your, the Humphrey's pride in pregnancy's place be grieved towards it. Let us watch the haughty cardinal. They must be displaced, he'll be protected. Thou our eyes shall be protector, worried to spike Duke Humphrey of the cardinal. Do you, as I do in these dangerous days, look at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, of Hope's pride at Somerset's ambition, till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, that virtuous prince, the good of Duke Humphrey. It is that they seek, and they in seeking that, shall find their deaths in your control. To the Lord break off, I know your mind before. All you and Maine are given, to the French, Paris is lost. The stake of Normandy stands on a tickle point, now they are gone, cold news for me, for I hand them to France. Here as I have in England's fertile source. Stop that, concluded on the article that is agreed. And Henry was well pleased to change, to Duke Humphrey, Duke's spare daughter. Well, the reward is to them, to mindly give away on their own, that they will come and I shall claim the crown. For that's the golden mark I seek to hit, nor shall's proud lack so reserve my rights, nor hold the secretary's childish fist, nor wear the diamond upon his head, whose church like human fits not for a crown. Pride is the secrets of the state, till Henry suffered in the joys of love, with his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, and Humphrey would appears before the jars. So shall I raise aloft the milk white rose, with loose and smelly air shall be but human. And in my standard, bare the arms of York, and as a rancaster, be forced, be forced, I'll make him hear the crown, whose body's raw, and bold, fair England's down. Say, is this the Guards? Is this the Government of Britain's Ireland? What shall King Henry be of pupils, still under so much gloss through his governance? Am I a queen entitled and inside, and must be made a subject to a duke? I thought he only resembled me, the encouraged courtship and proportion, but all he finds there to a holiness. To number are he who reads, when he feeds his champions of the prophets and apostles, his weapons, holy stars of sacred writ, his study is his till-yard, and his loves are braised in images of canonized saints. I would acknowledge a cardinal who would choose him folk and carry him to Rome, and set the triple crown upon his head. That would stay fit for his holiness. And that would be patient, as I was called, your highness came to England, so will I, and England worth your grace's full consent. The side of body protector, have we both, as the imperialist churchmen, some are said, warring and grumbling your, and I'll put these to these but can be more name than a king. And this to me, although we fancy our cardinal, there must be joy with him and with the lords, until we have brought you country in disgrace, then one by one we'll weed them all at last, and you, yourself, shall steer the happy hell. For York calls one to be. If York can only meet himself in France and let him be, then I'm the regent. If some set me a worthy of the place that York be reached into, I'll kneel down to him. Whether your grace be worthy, I don't know, dispute not that. York is the worthy. And this is Warwick, let thy betroth speak. The cardinal's not my betroth, Bill. And this present's all my thy betroth. Peace, uncle, and show some reason to us all why some are said to be preferred in this. Because the king forsook will have it so. Madam, the king is old enough himself to give his signature. These are no women's matters. If he be old enough, what needs your place to be protector of his excellence? Madam, I am protector of the realm. And at his pleasure we'll resign my place. Resign it then and leave that insolence. Since thou art king, and who is king but thou? The commonwealth and daily run through wrath. The common theft thou wrack. The clergy's bank are like and lean from thy extortion. The sumptuous buildings and their wives' attire cost a massive public treasure. Thy services and towns in France, if they were known, as the suspect is great, would make thee quickly enough without thy head. As for your spiteful, false objections, prove them, and I lie open to the law. Immersive, so deal with my soul, as I in duty love my king and country. But to the matter that we have in hand, I say my sovereign, York is me this matter, to be your reason for the realm of France. Before you let you give me leave to show some reason of no little force, why York is most unmean of any man. Now tell me, stop it, why I am unmean first for I cannot flatter thee in pride. Yes, if I be appointed to that pledge, my law of sunset will keep me here, without discharge of my offer, to the France we wanted to leave Dublin's at. Last time, I guarded the tenons on its will, till Paris was besieged, famished, and lost. Can I witness, and a bundle of facts, the perpetrator of the land commit, peace and strong warning. If it's a bribe, I should have hold my peace. All England knows I need silence. And black ambition, York. A truly peace, good Queen, and what about all these furious peers, my blessed are the peacemakers on earth. Good uncle, what shall we say to this? My lord, accept this verdict that I give. He is unworthy to have any voice. The late Eleanor, the protector's wife, has practiced dangerously against your state. Dealing with witches and with conjures, whom we have apprehended in the fact. Raising up wicked spirits from underground, demanding of your heinous life and death. And other of your heinouses, pretty counsel, as Lord Marge of Great Shallowness said. Oh, God, what mischiefs work, though it was, keeping confusion on their own heads thereby. Foster, see here the tainture of thy nest, and it might not be faultless, thou werest best. Madam, for myself to have him, I do appeal. But for my wife, I know not how it stands. Sorry I am to hear what I have heard. Noble she is, but if she had conversed with such as-like-to-pitch defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company, and give her as a prey to law and shame, that hath dishonor, Gloucester's honest name. Have seat your majesty, give me leave to go. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, and I'll go. Give up thy staff, Henry will do himself, protect of thee, and God will be my hope, my stay, my guide, my lantern to my feet, and go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved, than thou art when thou art protected to thy king. Give up your staff, sir, and the king is realm. But, sir, Henry is my staff, as willingly do I the same as I, as as thy father Henry made it mine, and even as willing at thy feet I leave it, as others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king, when I am dead and gone, may honorable peace attend my throne. Why, now, is Henry king and Margaret queen, and the Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce any self. Let's look into this business thoroughly, and call these fowl of henders to their answers. Let's poise the cause of justice equal scales, whose being stands sure, whose rightful calls prevail. Can you not see, or will you not observe, how insolent and lengthy his become, disdaining of duty that to us belongs? Small curves are not regarded when they grin, but great men tremble when the lining roars. Now, Humphrey is no little man in England. First, note that he is near you, and it's said when it should you fall, he is as well mount. I flatly won the common's hearts, and when he pleased to make commotion, disdain be fear they all will follow him. Now, dis the spring and weeds are shallow-rooted, suffer them now in a whole-growth garden, and choke the herbs for want of husbandry. My lords of Suffolk, Winchester, and York, reprove my allegation if you can, or else conclude my words in factual. Well, if your hind is seen into this duke, and had I first been put to speak online, I think you should have told your grace's tale. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, and in his simple show he harbors treason. He made my suffering, thrusters a man, unsound yet he's full of deep deceit. My lords of Wands, the care you have of us to mow down the woods that would annoy our hood is worthy praise, but should I sleep my conscience? Our Kinsman Walser is as innocent from being treason to our royal person as is the suckling lamb our harvest of. What's more dangerous than this, found in violence? Seen see it down, his feathers are but borrowed. Take heed, by the word, the welfare of us all, hands on the cutting short, that broadful man. All happiness is my lord, the king. Pardon my leads, but I have stayed so long. Make lost, I know that thou had come too soon, and lest I win more loyal than thou art, and you will rest me on my treason here. Some misduke that shall not see me lost, who is can accuse me, wherein am I guilty? Deserve, my lord, that you could bribe our France on being protectors of the soldiers' pay, by means whereof his highness had lost. Is it the thought so? What do they think it is? I never rob the soldiers of their pay. No never had one pinny bribe from France that coin that ere I hoarded to my use, be broad against me of the judgment day. And in your protectorship, you did devise special tortures for offenders. You never heard of it. But England was defending it by hearing it. It is well known that whilst I was protector, pity was all the fault that was in me. So helping God as I watched the night, I night by night in studying good for England. My lord, these thoughts are easy, quickly answered, but mightier crimes are laid into your charge, whereof you cannot easily burden yourself. And your recipe in a tiniest name in him permitting to do my good lord cardinal to keep him till a further time of trial. My lord ambassador, it's my special hope that you will clear yourself of all suspect. My conscience tells me you are innocent. My lord, these days are dangerous. Virtue is choked with foul ambition and charity chased hencewith rankers hand. Foul subordination is predominant and equity exiled your heinous land. I know bear complot is to have my life. And if my death might make this island happy and prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness to provide its main control over today's land. For thousands born against a speck no peril will not conclude their plodded tragedy. Both its red sparkling eyes blab his heart to malice. Its suffix coming round its stormy hate the sharp summer sand unburdened with its coming the envious alone that lies upon its heart. And dog of York his arm I have plunked back by false accused death level at my life. And you, my sovereign lady with the rest by false accused death level at my life and with all thy best endeavor to stir up my leapest leech to be my enemy. I, all of you, have laid your heads together and all to make away my guiltless life. My leech is very intolerable. I mean, that's what a sovereign lady you would think your many is worth of quickly couched. But I can give the loser a need to child. Far truer spoke than meant. I lose indeed. Be shrew the winners for they play me false. They'll rest the sense and hold us in all day. Lord Cardinal, here's your prisoner. Sir, attendant Duke, got him sure? Thus King Henry throws away his crutch before his legs be thrown to bear his body. This is the sipper beaten from thy side and walls are narrowed who shall know thee first all that my fears were false of how they were from good King Henry like he came out there. My lords, if you wish to see a fest, do or undo as in ourself, Duke, what was your might as he good one? I, Margaret, my heart is round and free. Oh, Uncle Humphrey, in my face I've seen a map of other truth and loyalty. And yet, when Humphrey is down to cut their hair, I fruitly false only thy face. What lowering star! Now, enemies, thy say that these great lords and Margaret are queen. She's a virgin on thy heartless life. Now, that is the wrong. Nor no man wrong. But as the butcher takes away the cap and vines the wrench and beats it where its veins bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse even so remorseless that they bore him heads. And as the dam runs lowing up and down, looking away from harmless love one way, and can you not fowl from early sloth? Even so, my self-aware's good blasters case with sad unhelpful tears. And when the allies will serve again and cannot do it good, so mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will reap and twist each groan. Say, who's a traitor? Blaster, he is not. Three lords. Cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams. Henry, my lord, is cold in grave affairs too full of foolish pity. Believe me, lords, this blaster should be quickly rid the world to rid us from the fear we have of him. But he should die his worthy policy, but yet we want a color for his death. It is meek that he be condemned by forces long. Believe, my lord, the word of policy. The king will ever spill to save his life. The commons happily rise to save his life. So do not stand on quillets how to slay him, be it by jins, by stairs, by subtle tees, sleeping away into a house where he'd be dead. He's resolutely spoken, unless he'd accept so much word value and say, but the word denies his praise. I would rapid he be gentle and sudden, as he can take due orders for a praise. Say, you consent. And such a will, believe, and I will provide his executioner. I'm so tender to the safety of mine. Here is my hand that he is worthy of doing, and so say I. And I. And now we three have spoken. It's girls not breaking who infuse our doom. Hey, Darjean, from Ireland you might call me in to signify the rebels that are up and put the Englishman under the sword. Send soldiers more to separate me time. A beast that craves greatly she is not my lord of yore. Try what your fortune is. To Ireland, will you take a group of men and tie your hat against the Irishman? I will, my lord. So please, his majesty. Why, our authority is his consent, and what will you establish he confirms? Now, noble lord of yore, take down this task in hand, but return me to the post to comfort. No more here, for I need you here. And it's what people call us no more. It's my lord of stomach. Within 14 days at Bristol, I expect my soldiers. From there I'll ship them all to Ireland. I'll see it truly done, my lord of yore. Now your core never be is our hopes to be. Well, well, well. It's politically done to send me packing with a host of men, cause men I lax, and you will give them me. I'll take it kindly. Yet before the sword, you put sharp weapons in a mad man's hands. While I am nurse a mighty man, I will stir up in England some black force. It shall blow 10,000 thralls to hell. And this bell-temper shards his rage, and till that golden crown sits on my head. Under a minister of my intent, I have seduced a head-strong kiddish, John Cate of Bunn, the commotion as could go well again, under that title of a John Mortimer, by this I can perceive the commons' mind how they affect the house's claim of York. They are to be taken wracked and tortured. I know the pain they can fit upon him, or they can say I've moved him to those arms. But it is great like he may be. While then from Ireland come I with my strength and reap the harvest which that coastal to, for hope, great being dead, it shall be. Henry, press aside! I pray you all proceed though, straight against our uncle Gloucester, and from true evidence, I'm good esteemed he be uplifted in practice. Pray God he may a quick month's suspicion. What's the matter, son, baby? Where is our uncle? There it is, my lord. Gloucester is dead. Mary God, full pen. God's secret, judgement. I did read tonight that the duke was dumb, and he could not speak a word. Help, here's my lord. Help once the king is dead! Help! Help me out, my eyes! He doesn't provide again, rather be patient. Oh, my God. My gracious lord. Come with me, my sovereign gracious Henry. Come with me, my lord, and send a comfort note, whose dismal tune bore rest to my vital powers, and thinks that the turpling of a rend by crying comfort from a hollow breast can chase away the first conceit and sound. I'm not like poison with such sugared words. Who lay on my head for me? I've touched a friend's knee as a serpent's stain. Thou bailable messenger out of my sight! Why have you raped my lord of Suffolk, thus? Although the duke was enemy to him, yet he most Christian-like amends his death. What, now I am the worldly dean of me, where in his note we were but hollow friends. He made me judge I made the duke away. Well, woe was me, but Gloucester wretched me. Be woe for me more wretched than he is. What does thou turn away in eye and eye face? I am a look, some lever, look on me. Is all thy comfort shut in blusters, too? Why, then, Queen Margaret, is ne'er thy cure. It is reported, Microsoft, that good-to-comfort treacherously is murdered by Suffolk and the card on Beaufort's knees. The commons, like an angry hive of bees that want their leader, scatter up and down and care not when they stay in his revenge. Myself, the calmest sleep will mute me until they hear the order of his death. He is dead, good lord, this is too true. How he died, God knows, not Henry. Andrew's chamber, view his breathless corpse and call it, then, upon his sudden death. That shall I do my leech. Oh, now the judge has called things, saying my thoughts. Both thoughts that lay which persuade my soul with some violent hand to lay off of his life. It might suspect me false, forgive me, God, but judgment only that belongs to me. Come here, thy gracious sovereign. View this body. It is to see how deep my grave is made. Oh, with his soul, with all my earthly solace and in seeing him, I see my life today. It surely as my soul intends to live with that dread king who took our state upon him to free us from his father's wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid upon the life of this price, David Duke. A load, a load, swung with his solemn tongue. What instance, he is no more, it was his out. See how his face is black and full of blood. His eyeballs further out than when he lived. Staring, full, ghastly, like a strangled man. His hair appeared, his nostrils stretched with struggling. His hands abroad displayed, as though they grasped and tugged for life, and were by shrinks of duty. It cannot be, but he was murdered here. You, the Duke, did dare myself to vote but had me in protection, and he, I hope, serves under murdering. And both of you were bound to come respite. And you must do half of the Duke to keep. His life you will not feast upon your friend, and fizz will see he found an editing. And you would like to suspect these noblemen is guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death? Who finds the heather dead and bleeding fresh, and sees vast past the butcher with an axe, but most suspect was he that made the slaughter. Are you the butcher itself, and where's your knife? Have and be still. The reverence, may I say? For every word you say has behalf to slander to your royal dignity. I will not make the slaughter of sleeping men, but here's a visual sword rusted with ease that shall be scoured in Franka's heart that slanders me in murder's room to death. Save the desperate war of war itself, and hold me in Humphrey's net. Oh, what dares done war if you fall so big dare him? But he's just bloodsucker of sleeping men! Why, how now, lords? Thou wrathful weapon's strong, and in the presence dare you be so bold! Dreadlord, the commons sent you word by me, lest all its suffix straight be done to death, or banished in fair England's territories they will by violence tear him from your palace and torture him with grievous, lingering death. They say by him that Duke Humphrey's died. They say in him they did your Highness's death. I beg thee, I beg thee, let him not leave here, and so by them they are your purpose as they do in Dread. For sure, lest all's two hourly prophesies his chances of my state might suffix means. And therefore, by his majesty I swear, who's far more than deputy I am, he shall not read infection in this air, but three days longer on the fain of death. Oh, Henry, let me plead for gentleness. lf thou was bleepin' I would but add increases to my wrath, and I would say I would catch my word, and I swear, and it's irrevocable, and to three days' haste thou hereby spout, on any ground that I ruler of, the world will not be wrecked of what I like. You'll have steam, because no one forges that point of death. For some they agree with sickness tribute that makes them gasp and stare and catch the air, plus feeling God and cursing them on earth. Sometime he talks as if two countries ghost upon his side. Sometime he calls your highness and whispers to his pillow as to you the secrets of his overcharge and soul. Even now he calls them out to you. Come, summer-set, more. Come with me. Chance and sorrow go along with you, our discontent and sorrow fix to be flaked out up to keep you selfish. You stupid queen's excretion. I thought something'd take this heaven in. Give me thy hand, and I may do it with my wonderful deer. Know that the rain of heaven wet this place to wash away my woeful body. Now get me gone, and I may know my grief. Just what's the mice whilst thou art standing by? Well, go like this. Into friends thus condemned embrace, and kiss and take ten thousand weeks. Lother on. Hundred times you'll find a guy you'd never go by, and bear a life with thee. Thus his poor stomach ten times vanishing once by the king and three times first by thee. Just know the land that I care for without this wilderness would be populist enough so something had thy heavenly company. But where thou art, there is the war. Where thou art, mother? Desolation, I can't no more. Down to joy, that life myself no joy hath but that thousand weeks. Now death hath the king thou knowest is coming if thou be found by me, thou art but dead. And apart from me I cannot live or let me stay before I be before. To friends, wait, stop it. Let me hear it from thee. For once so when thou art in this world's glow thou hath an iris that shall find thee out. Walk to the world for this past that everything that you think were in as a splitted box serves under thee. This way for life to death. In this way for me. Be to wait. Be to wait. Be to wait. Be to wait. Be to wait. Be to wait. Even though the life is undeathed, the pains of death do make him grin. Disnoble not have been passed peace with thee. It's worth kind of. If thou loosed on heaven's lips, hold it by hand. Make sin all by hold. It was a monstrous life. A judge where we have sin as all and learn as all of meditation. For the pains of black heat, come on. Two for a penny, hey? What for topics? For a shame. Two black heaths? Sorry, I'd more need to sleep now, haven't I! I tell you, Jack came to come here, that means to dress the commonwealth, turn it and set you down. Well, he has a need for to sleep there. Yeah. Well, I always say, I was never very welcoming, then, since gentlemen came up to the vegetable age. Virtue is not regarded in any crocs, but I believe it's scorn to go to their great friends. Tush! Christ! It's King's Council, and I'm going to labour in my vocation, which is as much to say is, let the magistrates be labouring then, and therefore should we be magistrates. Sleep! Hey! Now I see it, but there's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard man. Oh! Wait for a stick. No one? Our supposed father. Or rather, I'm stealing the King of Heron. Fired with the spirits, I put him down in kings and princes. Come on! He was a mortimer. He was an honest man. My mother was a plain toucher. I knew her well. She was a big one. Therefore am I of an honourable hand. Hey! What needs for victory is value. I am able to endure much, and I fear neither sword nor fire. Captain is brave. A small beer shall be in common, and in the cheap side shall my healthy go to grass. Or shall eat and drink on my school, and I will power them all in one livery that they may agree, like brothers, and worship the Lord. Let's kill all the Lord. I am right, I am right, I am right. I am sorry for it, mate. The man is an honourable man. Oh, fine. Unless I find you guilty, he shall not die. Sir, I must take his hand and read. What is thy name? Emmanuel. I must know you should write thy name, or hast thou a mark to last. The Lord is plain dealing, man. I think of that I have been so well brought up that I can write my name. I must say, hang him with his pen in his ear. Fly, fly. Sir Hummerstafford is hard-buy with the King's force to stand. Stand! Well, felt thee down. He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight. Is it? No. To equal him, I will let myself a knight presently. Coated slain. It is to you, good people, that I speak. Over whom, in time to come, I hope to run. For I am the rightful heir unto the crown. Women, thy father was a plaster, and I myself a shearman, I doubt. And Adam was a garter. Mary, this Edmund Portimer of March, married a Duke of Clarence's daughter. Did he not? Aye, sir. By her, he had two children at one verb. That's false. Aye. That is the question. But I say, it is true. The elder of them, being put to nurse, was by a beggar woman stoned and away. And ignorant of his birth and heritage, became a bricklayer when he came of age. His son, Am I? Am I a bricklayer? Yes, it is true. And therefore, he shall be carried away. In a chimney, my father's house, and the bricks are alive this day, to test with mine. Therefore, I deny it not. This face, which ruches words, who speaks, he knows not what. Tell the king, from me, that which father's sake, and in effect, I am content that he shall reign. But I'll be protector over him. For I will have the law of says then, for the son of a duke of me, is England named in vain to go with the staff, but that my... Pristance holds it up. I say to you, that that law of say, has shown you the common word, that made it a unique law. And more than that, it can speak French. The Frenchmen are enemies. Don't do that, my ass. But this, can he who speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or now? And traitors that are up before the battles and children's sight, he hang up, for example, at their doors. And you can be king's friends, follow me. And you that love the commons, follow me. Now show yourselves, man, taste for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentle man. Spare none, but such, as goes in gladitude. Of the victory shall I bear. And the body, this is huge, till we do come to London, where we will have the man's sword born before us. If we need to thrive and do good, let's break on in the jail, from now to prison. We can look on this, but where's the body that I should in break? I have to make some grace to the verbal supplication. I say to myself, holy bishop to entreat. Forgot to bid so many simple souls should perish by the sword. And I myself, rather than bloody worship, as in short, will parlay with Jack King, their general. You won't say Jack King, that's what it had that head. All right, but I hope your highness shall have his. Hold on, madam. Still lamenting and mourning the supplication? I fear we love it, that I've been there that would have smelled of warmth warm so much for me. You know my love, I should not mourn for thine, for thee. With my gracious lord, we're taught out into Kettlewood, until the power be raised to put them down. Now, if the Duke of Suffolk, now alive, he can't use revels, but he's still a being. I'm saying the revels are heathen, they have far away with us in Kettlewood. No, that's why your gracious person be in danger. And therefore, in this city, will I stay and live alone in secret? Come on, I don't know something easy to see. Tell your lord, trust me, I'll forget his revels. Trust nobody from Finn to be betrayed. I must, the trust I have is in my innocence. And therefore am I bold. The pissing conjure I'm nothing but clarifying. It shall be treason for any that calls me other. He shall be beheaded, great tenter. Say, thou surgeon, may thou buck from lord. What canst thou answer to my majesty? For giving up of Normandy unto Miss Yard, bust my cup. The dolphin of France be it known unto thee by these presence, even the presence of lord Mortimer, that I am the base of them, that must sweep the court clean thou such filth as thou art. To traitorously corrupt the youth of the realm by erecting a grammar school. And therefore, our forefathers have no other books but the score and the tally. Thou hast caused printing to be eroded. Thou hast built a paper mill and for it thou shalt be punished. Thou hast appointed justices of the peace to call poor men before them a bad match as they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison because they couldn't read. And indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy to live. You men of Kent What say you, Kent? Nothing but this, disboder terror, malagence. Why did we speak to that, eh? I must see the anger of you all. I'll be voting. I've lain. I lost. Not Normandy. But to recover them would lose my justice with favor have I always done. Prayers and tears have moved me. This could never be at your hands. But to maintain the key, the realm, and you, this cheek's appeal is watching for your good. Give him a box of the years. That'll make him dread again. His head stands steadier on a pole of all night. Don't strike off his head. And then, break into his son-in-law's house. Sir James Cromer and strike off his head and wring your butt on two poles. Shall not wear a head upon his shoulders unless he pays me tribute. There shall not amaze be married. But she shall pay me her maiden heads. And they have it. Mary came to me. Mary came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. She came to me. Or town, you can tell. They didn't kiss, but they loved well when they were alive. But again, unless they should consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Go some and pull down the Savoy. Savoy. To the ins and core. Down with the laws of the realm. My mouth shall be the parliament of England. Away! Set fire to London Bridge. If you can, burn down the tower too. Hey, wait, wait, wait. Not fishly, down to the main school gunner. Now is mislead. And here pronounce, free pardon to the law that will forsake thee, and go home in peace. O say ye countrymen, will ye relented and give to mercy while his offer to you are that a rebel leads you to your debts. Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon? Pulling up his cap and say, God save his majesty. Who hates him and honor not his father, Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake, Shakespeare has worked with us and passed by. The king! The king! My lord's clever. Are you so brave? And you, thanks peasants, do you believe him? Will you need to be hanged with your pardons about your necks? You're all reverent and dastards and delighted in slavery to the nobility. Let them take your houses over your heads, break your backs with burdens, relish your lives and daughters before your faces. You judge me? You judge me? Then thus you will explain your go-ahead. Will he conduct you for the heart of France and make the meanest of you earls and dooms? Alas, he have no home and no place to fly to. Who rules that he hailed in by the spoil of the message, by braving of your friends and us? So lightly blown to and fro as this multitude, the name of Henry the fifth hails them to a hundred mischiefs and leaves me desolate my sword. Make way for me. But here is now staying in Heavens. An honest plea witness that thou want a resolution in me, only that thou followest best. An ignominious treasons makes me retake me to my heels, despite of devils and hell and thru. Will he fled? Do some and follow him, and he that brings his head unto the king shall have his reward a thousand pounds. Come soldiers, follow me, mobilise the means to reconcile you all with the king. Shall I endure the loose thine longing? Must not keep, not fits the gun, that dares not mold. No hands not rule. If I do not become a crown, thy hand was made to grasp the palmish staff of not a great and awful princey center, that gold must round in girth these rows of mine here. I rest the yoke of capital trees against king and crown. So I'll put in my sons to be my prey. Call the hidden clipper, bid him come amends, who say that the bastard boys of York shall be the surety to let traitor follow. Oh, blood's despotted near pocket. Our class of Naples England's bloody scourge, the santa of York, like messes in their birth, shall be their father's veil. Look when they come, I'll warrant them, make it good. And here comes Clifford to deny, dear veil. Belting old happiness to my mortal king. We are thy summer end, Clifford, near again, for now I'm staking so we pardon thee. This is my king, your hand, you have to stake. What is it, man, don't man, develop again. Aye, Clifford, a bedlam and ambitious humor makes him oppose himself against his king. Then he is a traitor to the tower with him and chop away that fact just heated. He is arrested but will not obey. His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. We are not such. I, noble father, if our words will serve. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. What a brood of traitors have we here. Look at a glass and call thy innings, sir. I am thy king and now false heart traitor. Call him as a mistake, my true great bear, that with the very shaking of his chains, he may astonish his pale-looking curse. I have considered with myself the title of this most renowned enduk. And with my conscience, do we rebuke his grace. The rifle-air to England's royal seat. I've found out what allegiance under me. I have. I have dispensed with him for such a goal. It is great sin to swear unto the sin, but great is sin to keep a sin below. A subtle traitor needs no self, mister. And so do arms, victorious father, to quell these rebels and their accomplices. Fine. Charity will shame and sleep not in spite, for you shall suffer Jesus Christ tonight. Well, stigmatic. That's more than thou canst tell. If not in heaven, you will surely suffer in hell. But I guess that since you all I see you straight. Ye love the crown, unto the house. What seeest thou with me? With thy great bearing should I be in love, but that thou art so fast, my name. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, but that tis shown ignobally and in treason. So let it help me now, against thy soul, as I am justice and true rights expressed. My soul and body are on the actual boat. Fuck you beneath peace, but thou art still. Peace with the soul of heaven. If it be thy life, flames of this last day hit earth and heaven together, even at this sight my heart is turned to stone. Tis mine, it shall be stoning. If your cat are old men's fears, no more will I debate. Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity and cruelty, while I seek out my fame. Tis mine, it shall be stoning. Stop, lie down there, I know your son is set. The sword hold thy temper. We wrathful still. No, the priests, pray for enemies. Princess kill. What are you made of? You're not a fight, nor a fly. Now is the wisdom, man, who is in defense to give thee any way. If you sit to us, I hope we can return no more but fly. You can be then, to seek the bottom of all our fortunes. But if we mistake as well, and we lay in love for you on the land, we shall to love and forget what you would love. Will these priests kill our fortunes? May they readily be stopped. I would speak blasphemy every day you fly, but fly, you must, my lord, away, my lord, away. Now, for me, return all my sons, and best deserve first. God, we would have, because none of our foes on this time fled me in absence of preparing nature. I know our safeties you follow, then, for as I hear, the king explains to London to hold up as your warrant shall be after them. But if we can, now, for my animals, it was a glorious day. Saint Ormond's battle, one by famous joke, shall be turned to us. On this we are, that's how it is pronounced. He means that by war, and most here, just by unto the crown, the reign is king. He durst not sit there, watch your father lives. My grace is leaves here in the parliament, be it so. I know you must see, the sample of the progeners, because the likes of Franz words and threats will be the one that Henry means to you. What am I to you? A watch conspire, you know. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet, I am like... Thy father was a traitor to the crown. Exister, thou art a traitor to the crown, and following this you serve in Henry. Whom should he follow but his natural king? True, Clifford, and that's Richard, Duke of York. To the crown. Thy father was his thou art, Duke of York. I am the son of Henry the Duke, and seized upon his towns and provinces. Top not of France, except thou has lost it all. My title's good, better than his. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. Henry IV, by conquest, got the crown. To fire a bayon against his king. Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? What bet? And if he may, then I am lawful king. Richard, in the view of many lords, resigned the crown to Henry IV, whose heir my father was, and I am his. He rose against him, being his sovereign, and made him to resign his crown, a fool. King Henry, be thy title right in thy defense. May the ground gate be to swallow me alive, where I may kneel to him that slew my father. Do right unto this princely Duke of York. Row! King, in all of war, if that one word let me for this my lifetime reign as king. Confirm the crown to me and to my heirs, and thou shalt reign in quiet whilst to thou miss. I'm content, Richard Plantagenet, enjoy the kingdom after my disease. What wrong this isn't to the Prince, your son? I go to tell the Queen, listeners, that they are an indigile king, and whose cold blood no spark of honor binds. Excerpt. Why should you sigh, my lord? Not for myself. I would mourn for my father. Not for myself. I would mourn for my son. For I, naturally, shall disinherit. Blind to be it, as it may, I hear and entail the crown to thee, and to thy heirs, more ever, conditionally, that here doth excite open to cease this civil war. And while silence to honor me, it is thy king's honor. Deserve thy winning in take, and well perform. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him. He is thy forward son. The old King Lancaster on reconciled. The cursed be ye, he seeks to make them foes. I shall search his friends, offer my counsel, and I'll keep London with my soldiers. I'll still wait. Excerpt. The Queen and I will stare, proving to be patient in such extreme magic man. And I've a die to mate, and never seen he never born of thee son. Seeing how his proof so unnatural of father, have we deserved to lose his birthright thus? Perhaps thou but loved him a half so well as I, or felt that pain which I did for him once, or noticed him as I did with my blood. Thou wiltst have left thy gearest heart blood there, rather than a vein. Pardon me, my lord, pardon me, sweet son. The old woman in the new city hark thou king, and wilt be forced to hear thee speak. And have I been there which ain't a silly woman. The soldiers should have tossed me on their pipes before I would have granted that act. But that would thirst thy life before thy honor. And seeing thou dust, I hear deforce myself both from thy table and thy bed, until that act of parliament be repealed whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have foresworn thy colors will follow mine, if once they see them spread and spread they shall be to thy foul disgrace and utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away our armies ready, come. Say, my lord, if you speak. I haven't spoke too much already. Get thee, come. I will be murdered by his enemies. When I return with victory from the field, I'll see your grace till then I'll follow her. Come, son, wait a minute. Come, son, wait a minute. Poor queen, how love to me are to have silent make a breakout in the terms of rage. Go, Exeter, and then treat it to a feast. I hope she'll reconcile you all. No quarrels, but a sight's contention. About what? It is yours, my envoy, not still King Henry V. Your right depends not on his right for death. Now you are dead or enjoy it now by giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe. It will not run you, father, in the end. I took an out of the Asia crisis in rage. For a too many oath may be broken, I break a thousand oaths to reign one year. Your grace should be foresworn. I shall be if I claim by open war. I'll prove the contrary. If you hear me speak. A passionate boy it is impossible, sir. An oath is of no moment being knocked drunk before a true and lawful magistrate that has authority over him that swears Henry had none. But if you serve the place then seems was he that made you to propose your oath, my lord is vain to frivolous and therefore to ours. Father, do you think how sweet a thing is to wear a crown within whose circuit is Elysium and all that call its fame and bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest until the white rose that I wear be dyed even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. I shall be the queen with all the northern girls and girls intended to besiege you in your castle. She is hard-fived with 20,000 men. So I march for a simple Henry. Hey, the drums, let's set out in order. An issue for a bit of battle straight by men of twenty. Though they aren't to be great, I doubt not of a noble victory. Many of battle at my wedding, France, when as the enemy has been chained to one. Why should I not now have the light success? Hey! A woman's general, what should we fear? Ah! See where bloody comfort comes and where shall I fly to save his hand? If the bride of this accursed Duke whose father slew my father, he shall die. That makes him close his eyes. I'll open them. Lord, and now it's a cruel, frightening look as we cover. Let me speak before I die. I do mean a subject for thy wrath. Be thou revenge on men and let me live. In vain, thou speaksest, poor boy, my father's blood has stopped the passage where those words should enter. Let my father's blood open again. He is a man. Had I by brethren here, their lives in nine were not revenge sufficient for me. Oh, let me bring the words as I should be! Such pity as my weapons point forwards. I never did be haught. Why, without slaving! Thy father slew my father, plantagement. And this, thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, shall rust upon my weapon until thy blood congealed with this to make me wipe off both. To pursue that fury besides a number of my strength. Then come this moldy hill here, that must be a coming but the shadow in his hand. Must you, that would be England's king, must you, that rebelled in our colony, lay a creation of your pride and scent? Where are you now? The one in Edward, the lusty George. And where's that valiant, crook-backed prodigy, thinking your boy, that with his rumbling voice who wants to cheer his dad in mutilies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling, Rutland? Look, York, you're stained with this napkin, with the blood, the valiant perfect with these radius-point veins is you from the bosom of the boy. And if my eyes can walk before his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks with awe. Blast for York, but that I hate thee. Deathly, I would lament to my miserable sin. I cruelly agree to make me marry York. What, hath thy fiery arms so punched by any trails that I'm a tear to call for Rutland's death? Why, on our patience, thou shalt be mad. And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus! Stand, pray, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wilt be feed, I see, to make me sport. York, count, speak, and let's see where a crown, a crown for York. And, Lois, thou loathe, but all do his hands, whilst I do set it on. Now, look, see, like a king. I, this, see, that took King Henry's chair, and, this, see, was his adopted heir. But, how is it that great Plantagenet is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath? As I be thank thee, you should not be king, till our King Henry hath shook hands with death. Oh, it is a fault too, too unpardonable. Off with the crown, his head, whilst we breathe, take time to do his death. That is my office for my father's sake. Say, say, let's hear the orison he makes. The wolf of France, no worse than the wolves of France, how ill becomes it in my sex to triumph like an Amazonian truller on their woes and fortune. But that, I face, is vital. I'm changing, making people into the use of evil deeds, I would say, proud queen to make ideas hard to act in a woman's fight. How could that drain the lifeblood of the boy? Did the father wipe his tears with all? And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women, those were not a touch, were not? To have his father's tears but have stayed the life of my sweet boy and with my tears I wash that blood. Don't do this. Take that, the crown. With the crown? Then I need such comfort come to thee as I now reap a guide to crawl. I've been slaughtered and all night, and I should not for my life, I'll be with him. What, we being right, my lord and Exeter, fill us all and I will quickly dry my melting tears. Here's for my oak. Here's for my father's death. And he here should right have a gentle heart to keep. But I get to miss Christ the God, my soul for him is not just up with his head, setting on York's gates, so York may overlook the town of York. Since the father escaped, he was skipped away or known. Had he been tamed, we should have heard the news. Had he been stated, we should have heard the news. How fast far I see so sad. I cannot joy until I be resolved where our right valiant father has become. I saw him in the battle ringed about as his o' bear had compassed round with dogs. Wrapped and pinched a few and made them cry the rest stand on. Here, our father with his enemies, we think surprise enough to be his son. Then for mine and iron's where do I see three sons, three glorious sons. Each one a perfect son. See, see they join, embrace and see to kiss as if they found some league inviolable. This wondrous rain you have never heard of. Had he incited his brothers to the field, to be the sons of great plantagiment, should overshine the earth as this the world of what errant bones. Henceforth, where I work on my targets, three vast shining sons, there he looks for tell some dreadful story hanging on my tongue. But when as the noble do you speak no more, five hard two months, say how he died for I will hear it all. Envirominting Clifford, and the queen high despised, it went with great heat wet. The ruthless queen gave him the dryest cheeks and napkin, steeped in the harmless blood sweet young ruffins by ruff Clifford slain and after many scorn they took his head and on the gates of yore they said the same, I was slain the flower of your but his shippling never, never shall I see more joy. I cannot weep for all my body's moisture, scarce serves to quench my furnace burning heart. To weep is to make less the death of grief. Close and revenge for me Richard, I bear my name I'll avenge thy death. But now for the Lord, the Duke of York is slain, and days ago I crowned his nose with theirs. O King, like wax, his walk is sent to your succession, unproclaimed, in every place. He did not stop to be encompassed with your crown, my lord, to see the sight and irks my very soul, and the full prevention of your gods is on my fault, my gracious liege, this too much liberty and harmful pity must be laid aside. A mischocked level at my crown, he thought my Duke would have his son a king. Thou being king, blessed with a goodly son, didst yield to disinherit him, were not pity that this goodly boy should lose his birthright by his father's fault, and long hereafter say into his child what my great-grandfather and grand-tire got, my careless father fondly gave away. I know that things ill-got had ever bad success. I'll leave my son, my virtuous deeds, behind, and with my father. I'll let thee no more, or continue your life best-friendly, though I would agree with thee this year. My own cheer-hop, your spirits, our foes are nigh, and soft courage makes your followers faint. You promise neither to our forward son, and she, your sword, and nothing presently, I would kneel down. And we're in plentaginate as a night, and learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. My gracious father, by your keenly leave, I'll draw it as a parent to the crown, and in that quarrel, use it to the death. Why, that is spoken like a toured prince. Well, Commanders, be in readiness, for with a band of 30,000 men comes Warwick, backing Edward Duke of York, and in towns as they do march along, proclaim him king, and many do fly to him. Array your battle, for they are at hand. I would, your highness, would depart the field, and the queen hath best success when you are absent. Aye, good, my lord, and leave us to thy fortune. That's my fortune too, therefore I'll stay. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. We'll down you for grace, and set thy diadem upon my head, or bid the mortal fortune of the field. No rape thy minions, proud and salty boy, becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, before thy love will sovereign, and thy king. I am his king. I am his king. He shall bow his knee. I was adopted by his consent, since when his oath is broke, for as I hear, you that are king, though he do wear the crown, and cast him, my new act of pollen, to blot up, brother, I'm reason two, who shall succeed the father but the son. Are you there? Would I stand to answer thee, or any he, the proudest of thy source, was it not I, and old York, and yet, not satisfied? God, say, your words, are fine. Down, my lords, and hear me speak. Defy them, then, or else hope close thy lips. I really give no limits to my tongue. I am a king, and privileged to speak. I leave the womb that breathest meaning here, cannot be cured, my lords, that won't be sealed. Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak, sound trumpets, let either victory or else stay. These words shall cost ten thousand lives this day. Suppose this on is for the Duke of York, and this for Robert, both bound to revenge. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. This is the hand that stabbed thy father, York, and here's the hand that slew thy brother, Rutland, and here's the heart that triumphs in their desk, and cheers these hands that slew thy siren brother to execute the like upon thyself, and so half-acting. There's light to the morning war when dying clouds contend with warning light. When dying the shepherd, bowing in his sails, command the queen through the day, nor night. Now, sways it this way, like a mighty sea, forced by the tide, combat with the wind. Now, sways it that way, like the self-same sea, forced by the tide, like a fury of the wind. Sometimes the flood prevails under the wind. Now, one the better, then another the best, both coming to the natives, breast to breast, yet neither conqueror nor conqueror end, such is the equal poise of this hell. The small hill rests down to whom God will dare. For a margarite like me, nothing to do, and to me from the battle swearing both, it was the best of all what I've done. He thinks it were a happy life to be no better than a holy sway. Sit on a hill, as I do now, carve out dials, greatly point by point, thereby to see the minutes, how they run. 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 youths have been with young. So many weeks and the poor fools will ene so many years or I shall shear the police. So, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months,Or in white hairs unto a quiet grave. Oh, livelly! Gives mouth a hop or bush a sweeter shade to shepherds looking on their silly sheep. and have a rich and broider canopy to kings that fear their subjects venturing. Oh yes it does A thousandth foldgo an diaper. And to conclude, the shepherd Holy GODS. He is cold thin dream out of a leather bottle Wanton's sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure him sweetly he enjoys, Are far beyond a prince's delicacy, His viand sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When careless trust and treason waits on me. It hath resisted me, past any gold, For I have bought it with a hundred blows, Let me see, is this our fellowman's face? No, what is this? It is my father's face. No, no, no. It is my normal son. Oh! This thou hast to delight in me, to a life thine. Wanton, by the king, was I pressed forth my father. You know, a role of warwick's men came on the part of your oppressed by his master. And I who have his hands recieved my life, but by the mind he heads of life reared him, about strategies, how foul, how butcher-lit, how erroneous, mutinous, unnatural, this daily battle, ducky. Oh, let all that has given me the fight too soon, and have bereft me of thy life too late. Pardon me, God, and do not, when I begin. Pardon, Father, for I do not be. My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks, and no more words for they have flowed their pity's spectacle. Oh, bloody times, while lions war, and battle for their dead's young, harmless lambs, of by their entity, weak wretched man, I'll eat thee tear for tear. And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, be blind with tears, and break or charge the break. Oh, pity! Gosh, thriving houses, wither! Take on with me, and never be satisfied. How will my wife, with its water of my sun, shed seas of tears, and never be satisfied? Oh, the country, with its wonderful chances, must thank the king, and not be satisfied. Was ever son so rude upon his death, that her father so bemoaned his death? The king so grieved by subject's woe. Oh, very hence, where men weep, I feel, for I have murdered, where I should not kill. Oh, very hence, and it looks like that will, for I have murdered, where I should not kill. My man, let's overgo the care. Here sits a king more local than you are. Like a cheap bull, waiting for death of oldest in pursuit. He had died, and lost the last of gate, keeping him alive. Castor, I fear that I overthrown more than my body's body, with my soul, the foes, my souls, and my body. For at the hands I have discerned no pity. Come, York, Richard, work in the rest, and stare back for the peace. See what I can rest. Now breathe with your words, and smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, but think we know it's the Clifford threat with them. Notice the possibility to escape. Your brother Richard marked them for the grave, and we're so wary. So what is this which takes our heavy beat? See where it is, and how the battle's ended. If your friend is more foe, let him be gently used. Reboat that doom of mercy for his Clifford. You're not contented that he locked the bridge. In human weapons, when his reeds put forth, but set this murdering knife unto the roof, from whence that tender spring and sweetened spring, I mean how a princely father, Duke of York, found his love, York. And I am son. Now pity, Scotland, I will pity thee. Where's Captain Martin, it's a fish. Instead, where of it was triumphed March. There to be crowned an English royal king. And whence shall Warwick cut the seats of France? And that's the lady born of my queen. So shall thou see both these lands together. In is thou shalt, sweet Warwick. Let it be, for never shall I annotate the thing wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, George of Clarence, and Warwick, as ourself. Shall do and undo as we please at best. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester. The Gloucester's duty is too ominous. But that's a foolish observation. Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now, come on then. Receive me, come on, as in protection. Drunk from thee, thy balm washed off, wherewith thou was demointed. No bending evil call thee Caesar now. No humble suitors press to speak for right. No, not a man comes for address of thee, for how can I help them, and not myself? My queen and son have gone to France for aid, and as I hear the great commanding Warwick is that they're gone to create the French king's sister to wipe her out. And if this news be true, poor queen and son, your labors are lost for Warwick, it's a subtle orator. And Louis, a prince soon one with living words. By this again, then Margaret may win him, for she's a woman to be pretty much. I, the chiefs of the bay, Warwick to give. Scent, what art thou that talks of kings and queens? More than I seem, less than I was born to. Men at least, one less has to not be, and men at least look of kings, why not I? I, but thou speaksest as if thou works a king. Oh, so I'm fine, and that's enough. But if thou art a king, where is thy crown? My crown is my heart, my head, my entire brain. To be seen like one's own content, rather than as a cell of kings and queens. Well, if you be a king, crown it with content. Your crown contented, you must be contented to go along with us, for as we think, you are the king, King Edward hath deposed. And we, as subjects, sworn in our allegiance after him, you is the king. So such a nose, nor will not now. Sworn two subjects unto me, and to- For we were subjects, but wild we were. Blow this feather from my face, and as the wind blows it to me again. No pain with my wind, when I do blow, and bowings when I know that it blows. Command it over and fight it great for dust. Such is the likeness of you common men. But if I could do a great rose from, that's it in my life and in the treaty, when I'm making guilty. I charge you, in God's name and kings, to go with us unto the officers. In God's name lead your kings name ill-bave, and what God will let that working perform, and what he will, probably yield unto. Richard Graham is slain. His land is in siege. We injustice cannot well deny, because in quarrel with the house of York, the worthy gentleman did lose his life, and the highest will do well to grasp the suit. It were dishonor to deny it to her. It were, no less. But yet, I'll make a pause. Yeah, you listen to yourself. And see, the raiding half of David to Graham before the king will grant her a suit. Without, we will consider of your suit, and come some other time to know our mind. Right gracious lord, I cannot put delay. May it please your highness to resolve you now, and what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. My most gracious lord. You shall have for it, you'll be ruled by him. For I pity they should lose their father's land. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant at them. Lords, give us leave. The hymen. For the steely as I love myself. How would you not do them much, to do them good? What to do them good I would sustain them some heart. Then came your husband's land, to do them good. Therefore I came unto your highness. And now these lands are to be gone. So shall you bind me to your highness' service. What? Service will thou do me, if I give them. What's your grace's command? That's all that the grace's in me to do. But you'll take exceptions to my boon. No, my gracious lord, except I can't do it. I, but thou can't do what I need to ask. Why, then, I will do what your grace commands. Why, slots my lord? Shall I not hear my task? An easy task is not to love. Well, that's soon performed, because I am a subject. Well, then thy husband's land, I freely give thee. Oh, I take my leave with many thousand likes. You say thee? Where's the fruits of love I hate? It is the fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. I, but I fear me in another sense. What love thinks thou I sue so much to get? My love to death, my humble fight, my prayers. But love that virtue makes virtue not. I mean, no, by my trove, I did not mean such that. But now, you can't be made to see my life. My wife will ever be wronged for my deceit. Your highness aims that, if I aim a right. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. To tell thee plain, I'd rather lie in prison. Well, then, thou shalt not have thy husband's land. Well, then, my honesty shall be my dowry, for by that loss I will not purchase. Daring thy long-sighted children, mighty. Herein, your highness wrongs by them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination accords not with the sadness of my suit. Please, you dismiss me with either I or no. I, if thou wilt say, I is my request. No, if thou dost say, no to my demand. Then, no, my lord, my suit is at an end. The widow likes him not, she gets her breath. He is the bluntest we were in Christendom. One way or other, she shall be my love. Say that King Edward takes thee for his queen. It is better said than done, my lord. I am a subject fit to justly all but far unfit to be a sovereign. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, I speak no more than what my soul intends. And that is to enjoy thee for my love. And that is more than I yield unto. I know I too need for your queen, and yet too good to be your concubine. Cabal widow, I didn't mean my queen. So grieve, your highness, my son should call you father. One or more than when my daughter's calling mother. Thou art a widow, and thou art some children. And by God's mothers, I be but a bachelor, and I have other son. It is a happy thing to be the father and to bring me son. But I am son no more, but thou shalt be my queen. You knew what chap we two have had? The widow likes it not, but she looks very sad. You think it's strange, but you marry her. To whom, my lord? Where it comes to myself. That would be 10 days wonder at the least. It's a day longer than a wonder last. But so much is the wonder in extreme. Well, just on, I can tell you both. Her suit is granted for her husband's land. Be conveyed down to the tower, and go in by the set of man atonement. Lords, use her honorably. Edward will use women honorably. Would you be wasted? Marrow, bones and all that from his wallet, no hopeful branch may spring. The crosslet is golden time, I look for. And yet, between my soul's desire and me, the lustful Edward's title varies. Clarence, Henry and his son, young Edward, and all the un-looked-for issue of their bodies. The cold premeditation for my purpose. Senators of kingdom men, for Richard, what other pleasures can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap. I'll deck my body with gay ornaments and witch-sweet women with my words and looks. Miserable thoughts. And more unlikely than Guacopoulos, 20 golden crowns for my love, for swore me and my mother's womb. And for I should not dabble in her soft laws. She did corrupt, frail nature with some pride. To straighten my arm up, take a withered shrub, to set an envious mountain on my back, to shake my legs of an unequal size, to disproportion me in every part like to a chaos. A monstrous fault to harbour such a fault. Is this world afforded no joy to me, but to command, to check, to or bear such as I'm a better person than myself? I'll make my heaven to dream onside of it, to account this world but hell, until my mischievous trunk that bears this head be rounded and hailed with a good man. You know not how to get a crown. For many lies stand between me and hope. And I, like one lost, an authority would that rends the thorns and is wrenched with the thorns, seeking the way and straying from the way, not knowing how to find the open air, but toiling, but I will free myself or shoo my way out with a bloody axe. Can smile? Ed Murden, well said, smile. You wear no cheeks or artificial tears. And for my face, for all occasions, I can have colors to the chameleon, change shapes, when precious for a band of users, like the Margaret Mocky about to school. Can I do this? And cannot get a crown. It unifits the state and birth that thou should stand while the weep that seek no mighty king of crowns. Now Margaret must strike her sail and learn a while to serve where kings command. I was, I must confess, great Alvien's queen in former golden days, but now, on this chance, hath trod my kind of doubt. Be then, queen mother, hath tell thy faith. It shall be eased, if France can hear that faith. Those gracious words provide my drooping thoughts and give my tongue tonight sorrow's leave to speak. Now, therefore, be done to noble Louis. When Henry is become a banished man, proud and vicious Edward, Duke of York, you search for in the title and deceit of England's true and mighty lawful king. This is the cause that I bore Margaret, for this, my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, and come to crave thy just and lawful aid. And if thou fail us, all our hope is done. But look where comes the razor of my sorrow, for this is he that moves both wind and tide. What's here approaches only to our presence. Our Earl of Warrant, Edward's greatest friend. A kindest man failing the lawson. And then, if thou watchest the great version lead him for now. Thy heir, sister, to England's king, in lawful marriage. If that go forth, Henry's hope is done. Gracious madam. In our king's behalf, I am commanded with your leave and favor, humbly to kiss your hand and with my tongue. Lord, where fail, late entering, have his evil ears have placed thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. King Louis and Lady Bonnet, hear me speak before you answer Warwick. His demands springs not from Edward's well-meant honest mouth, but from the teeth. Rebound necessity! For how can tyrants safely unknown, unless abroad they purchase great alliance? Jurious Margaret! And why not Queen? Because thy father Henry did usurp, and thou no more art prince than she is Queen. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward and Exeter, varchs-sept. are requested to stand aside while I use further conference with Warwick. Father, his grant works words bewitch him not. Not, Warwick, tell me, in, abound thy conscience, is Edward thy true king? For I will loathe to a link with him that will not loathe a chosen. Thereon I pardon my credit and my honor. But is he gracious in the people's eyes? The more than Henry was unfortunate. Then further, all dissembling set aside, tell me for truth a measure of his love unto our sister, O'er you. Such it seems, as may be seen a monarch like himself, myself have often heard him say, and swear that this his love was an eternal plant, where all its roots was fixed in virtue's round, its leaves and fruit maintained with beauty's sun, except from any but not from disdain. Unless the Lady Bono put his pain. Now, sister, let us hear your firm result. You grant all your denial, it would be mine. Yet I confess that often there is this day when I have heard your king's deserts recounting, man here at the judgment to desire. Then, Warwick, thus our sister shall be adored. One year of quick motherhood and be a witness that Bono shall be wife to the English king. Decide by his life to a boy by suit before, like I know he was Henry's friend, and still is friend to him and Margaret. Yet, if your title is crowned in me, as may appear by Edward's good success, that is but a reason that I be relieved from giving aid, which they taked from, he said. That shall you have all kindness at my hand, that you are a state of acquittance, and I can use it. Henry, having nothing, nothing can he lose. And that's for you yourself, our quantum queen. You have a father able to maintain to a better toy to trouble him than France. She's impudent and shameless, Warwick, peace. Prompt, set her up, and pull her down of chains. I will not, and still with my talk, his tears both full of truth. I'm making Louis the whole by sly conveyance, and I know it's false love, for both our birds have sell the same feather. My lord ambassador, this letter is for you. This from our king unto your majesty. And Adam, this for you, from whom I know not. I'd like it well, though, her queen and mistress smiles at her news while Warwick frowns at his. Nay, Mark, I'll always stand because he would never like almost for the best. Warwick? What thou, diamonds? And the rest of that quit mine, such is no my art, none the whole to joys. I'm full of sorrow and heartless intent. What? Has your king married a girl named Grey? And now to choose your forgery, and his sends me a paper to persuade me patience. Is this the liens that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us? Your majesty is much before disprove it, Edward's love. And Warwick's honesty, King Louis. I hear protest in sight of heaven that I am clear of this misdeed of Edward's. No more my Lord Majesty's pass. And henceforth I am not your servitor. I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bonner in his former state. These words have turned my hate to love. Enjoy it without becoming Henry's friend. Not so much his friend. I, his unfaithful friend, that if King Louis vows to grant us some few chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast and force the Tyre's bloody seat by war. Is that his new-made bride to suffer him? Then in Young's messenger of a tenant post, and tell false, Edward, that supposing king, that rear France is sending over Damascus, to ramble it with him, and he's a new bride that sees what's past. Go fear as I king with all of that. Tell him he nob's ill-proved and widower shortly, and wears a willow garland for his sake. Tell him my morty weeds are laid aside my many duke of armor on. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, and therefore I'll enthrown him ere he long. Now, Rory, thou and Exeter, with five thousand men, shall cross the seas, and be the false-edward of battle, and as occasion serves, this noble queen and prince shall follow with a fresh surprise gift. Else I'll go, but answer me one doubt. What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? This shall assure my constant loyalty, that if the queen of the young prince agree, I'll join my eldest daughter and my joy, with him forthwith in holy wetlocked bent. With all my heart, and thank you for your motion, son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, and good pledge my bow, and gift my hand. Why, sterile thou, this soldier shall be the king, I longed till the end, but for I was his chance, for mocking marriage with a gamer of France. In Edward his ambassador, but I've returned his sworn and mortal foe, and he none else to make a stale but me. The none but I shall turn his jest of sorrow, and I'll be seeked to bring him down again. His misery, his revenge, and Edward's mom. This new marriage with the late Grey, hath not our brother made a worthy choice. Alas, you know, this far from his of France, how could he say to a war that may return? Here comes the king, and his well-chosen bride, with her brother. Why stand you pensive, as it half malcontent? I do as well as Louis of France, as the Earl of War, who is so weak in courage and enjoyment that doesn't know if it's out of his. Suppose they take offense without cause. They are but Louis and Warwick. I meant words. Your king and Warwick, so must have my will. You shall have your will because our king, yet hasty marriage seldom prove it well. And he, by the way, shall you offend it too? I know, God forbid, I should wish them pardon, whom God hath joined together. I, into a pity, disunder them that yoke so well together. Setting your scorns and your misligoside, tell me some reason why the Lady Grey should not become my wife and England's queen. Then this is my opinion, that King Louis becomes your enemy, for mocking him about the marriage is way to go now. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, is now dishonored by this new marriage. Tell me, Pope, Louis and Warwick be pleased by such invention as I can devise. He had to have joined with France since such alliance would have more strength than this on commonwealth. It's more dishonored than any home-bred marriage. Why, knows not Clarence, that of itself England is safe, if true within itself. But the better wings is back, my friends. Which is better using France than trusting. Let us be back with God and with the seas, which he hath given for fence impregnable, in them and in ourselves our safety lies. For there's one speech, Lord Rivers, well deserved to have the heir and daughter of Lord Scales. I would have that. It was my will and grant that before this once, my will shall stand for law. And yet, we think your grace hath not done well to give her to the brother of your bride. She better would have fitted me, or Clarence. But in your bride, your very brotherhood. Alas, O Clarence, is it for a wife that thou wilt not contend? I will provide thee. Inducing for yourself, you've shown your judgment. Which, being shallow, you shall give me leave to play the broker on my own behalf. And to that end, I shortly mine to leave. Leave me, or Tywin. Edward will be king, and I will be Tywin to his brotherhood. My lords, before it pleases Majesty, to raise my stake to Tywin the Queen. Do me but right, and you must all confess that I was not ignoble of dissent, and mere that myself hath like fortune. So as this title honors both me and mine, so your dislikes, and whom I would be pleasing, of Clarence might do it to danger, and to sorrow. What danger, or what sorrow can fool thee? So long as Edward is thy constant friend, and their true sovereign, who they must obey, nay, who they shall obey, unless they seek for hate through their my hands. I hear, yet say not much, to think, the more. Now, brother of Clarence, what news from France, what answer makes King Louis Saintois led? Who tell false Edward thy supposed king, that Louis of France is sending over Damascus to revel it with him, and his new bride, is Louis so brave, like he thinks me angry. But what's important to our man, Warwick, who tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, therefore I'll uncrown him ere it be long. But that's the trait I breathe out so proud words, but I will arm him, be thus forewarned, they shall, like wars, unpake that presumption. But say, he's warwick friends with motherhoods. I, gracious sovereign, they are so linked in friendship that young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. We like the elder Clarence will have the elder. Now, brother King, farewell, sit you fast, for I'll hand him to Warwick's other daughter, that though I want a kingdom and a marriage, I may not prove inferior to yourself. You may love me and Warwick, follow me, yet I will arm him against the words. But, would you stand by us? I, in spite of all that shall withstand, wiser than I am sure of victory. Well, march towards Warwick and his mates, for while I watch Henry as no soldier, march we hence, and lose no hour till we meet Warwick, and his foreign power. Be news, I must confess, of all the grief, yet gracious is the marriage, as you may. Warwick may lose, as well as win the day, till then fair hope must give the life's decay, and I'd rather wean me from despair for love of Edward's offspring in my womb. I'll hand him to a sanctuary, to save at least the heir of Edward's right. There, will I rest secure from force and thought. Come, therefore, brother rivers, let us slide, Warwick takes us, we are sure to die. To rest in this trustful war in noble heart, and far and open hand in silent love. I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, were but a feigning friend to our proceedings. But welcome, sweet Clarence. My daughter shall be died. Spite, put down your for grace, call Edward King, and at his hands, beg mercy, and we will pardon thee these outranges. That is a nay rather. What thou draw, my forces, hence? Confessors said they had been plundered down. Call Warwick! Then that's not silver naver, Duke of York. I thought at least he would have said the king. Dwarth's eye! Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner. Intender one, you'll meet him in the tower. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down. Kneel down! I would rather chop this hand off at a blow, and with the honor, where George of Clarence stands by me, with whom an upright seal to rip her nails more than the nature of a brother's love. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Edward call. Father of Warwick, know ye what this means. Look here, dear thee. I will not ruin thee, my father's house. Who gave his blood to lie in the service gatherer. That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, to bend into the fatal instruments against his brother and his lot, okay? Perhaps I will eject this whole ear to keep that oath with more impiety. I am so sorry at my trespass made that to deserve well at my mother's hands, I here proclaim myself by mortal code. And so, proud, hearty Warwick, I defy thee. Until my brothers turn my blushing cheeks, pardon me, Edward, I will make amends. And Richard do not fathom my faults, for I will henceforth be no more unconstant. Now I'm all welcome. I've ten times more beloved than if thou never hadst deserve died. Well, Clarence, this is his brotherlike. Oh, passing traitor. Harkers! And I'm done. You must hear my body to the earth. He's ours. I'm doomed to death's black veil. I've been as piercing as the midday star. The search is even treason's of the world. Rickle said my brothers were likened oft to kingly sepulchres. For who is king and who does smile? When Warwick bent his brow. My glory, my manners that I had. He'd been upfushing me in the wall of my land. And live for thee as we can. Leave yourselves. For war beats you all farewell. To meet it, Evan, coins my power. Our fortune keeps an upwards of this bright shining day. I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud. I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen had raised in Gallia have arrived march on the fight. We're not bringing this valley 30,000 strong. If she had time to breathe, be well assured her faction will be full as strong as ours. We're all advised by our big friends that they can hold their course to Cheeksbury. We'll dig us straight. But cheerly seek how to redress their arms. And though unskillful, why not let an eye for once allow the skillful pilot to charge? We will not run the hell to sit and weep, but keep our course. Though the rough women say no, from sheriffs and rocks that threaten us with red. 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 do our poor bark. So you can swim unless it's unwanted. Dread on the sand while they quickly sink. Bestride the rock, the tide will wash you off. Or else you vanish. That's a threefold death. This speak, I lords, to let you understand in case some one of you applied to us, that there's no hope for mercy with the brothers, more than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks, like courage then, what cannot be avoided toward childish weakness, to lament or fear. If you think the woman of this valiant spirit should, if a coward heard her speak, he's worth infusing breast with magnanimity and make him naked for the man in arms. Yes. Prepare your way for Edward is to tell. I thought no mercy is his policy to rehearse thus to find the terms provided. But he's to see if we are in readiness. Lords, knights and gentlemen, Henry your king is prisoner to the foe, his safe usurped, his realm of slaughterhouse, his subjects slain, his statues cancelled and his treasured spent, and yonder is the wolf that makes this spoiled. You fight injustice, then in God's name once be valiant and get sickle to the fight. And so took spray, yonder stands the thorny wood, which by the heavens' assistance and your strength must by the roof be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, for well I what he blames. To monstrous royals, Edward, what satisfaction can't thou make for bearing arms for stirring up mine. My subjects, for all the trouble that has turned me to. You might still have worn the petticoat, you dare have stolen the breach of Lancaster. Let Aesop pay for it will sort some of this place. My heaven brass, how plaky for that word. Aye, that was false. Ah, say take away this woeful boy, or I will charm your tongue. Aren't you glad there aren't two men? I know my duty, and thou mischievous. And shout, both rich and cold, for we are not too much. Why should she live to fill the world with words? Thus she swooned. Clance, to the king, my brother, I'll hence to lunch in on a serious matter. And if you come there, be sure to hear some news. What, what? With a tower. Tower. Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, though. Butchers and villains. Be too glad to view her and die in a broth. You have no children, butchers, if you had the thought of them would have stirred up remorse. For ever chance to have a child, look in his youth to have him so cut off as rid this sweet young prince. Away with that. I charge you pay her hence to propose. They never bear me hence to dispatch me here. Here she dies, though, and I'll pardon thee my death. What will thou know when Clarence Clarence do it now? My hand, I will not do thee so much. When Clarence do it, when Clarence do it now. Here she dies, though. Where's that hard-favored butcher, Richard, Richard, we're off now! What's with you, Don? It's a long name, all he posts in it, I guess. They're like a bloody supper of a tower. It's something that I think comes in his head. Well, my sense, this charge's a common sort with pay and thanks. And let's await the London. See, gentle queen, how well she fares. By this, I hope she had a son for us. So come to you and yours hast to this trip. No, no, no! You broke so hard. I am my good lord. My lord, I should say rather, for sin to flatter good were a little better. Good Gloucester and good devil were alike. But wherefore does thou comest for my life? This, though, I am an executioner. A persecutor, I am sure thou art. If murdering innocents be executing, why, then, thou art an executioner. Thy son I killed for his presumption. That's thou then killed when first thou didst presume. Thou hast not lived, thickest of mine. And thus I prophesied, that many a thousand, that now mistrust no parcel in my ear. And many an old man's eye. And many a widow's. And many an orphan's, water-standing eye. Then, for their sons, wives, for their husbands, children for their parents, timeless dead, shall rue the hour, then ever thou wast born. Thou hast pained, and yet brought thee night-gested, and the form of lump. Not like the prug of such goodly tree. Teeth had sown night, and when thou swore, a sicker by that came stuff, might know her own. And in the rest we drew more. John! Prophet, in thy speech, to this, among the rest, was I allotate. I, the much more slaughter-upper there, is, then pardon me. Will the aspiring blood of Lancaster sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. My sword leaps for the poor king's. May such purple tears always be shed from those that was the downfall of our house. Fete's spark of life be yet remaining. And say, I set thee thither. I then have neither pity, nor love. It is true that Henry told me of her. For I have often heard my mother say, I came into this world with my legs forward. Had I not reasoned with you to make case and seek thou ruin, that you served our rights, the midwife wondered, and the women cried. Oh! So it was. Reflinging, if I, that I should snarl and bite, played the dog. And since the heavens have shaped my body so, that hell, they curse my mind to it. I have no brother, I like no brother. And this word, love, which great is called divine, be residues in men like one another. And not in me. I am myself, a bogey. In Henry, the prince, the son, and the rest, I count myself but back till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room. Henry, I take you to this royal throne. Great purchase with thy blood. Near the best, then it keeps my body. For thee, thy uncles, and myself, have it our honor, watch the winter's night. Got all the hoots in summer's scolding heats. Thou mightst repossess the crown in peace. And although our labours thou shalt reap the gain, I'll blast his harvest ere it is calling thee right. Gostokat, love my lovely queen, and kiss thy princely nephew, brother's moment. Thy duty that I owe unto your grace, I seal upon the lips of this sweet pair. Thanks, noble brother, worthy parents, thanks. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprains. Witness, loving kiss, I give the fruit. To say the truth, so do this kiss, the master. Oh, hail, presentment of heart. Are we seeking as our soul delights, having our country's peace and brother's love? What will your grace have done with margulet? Away with it. What haiths to France? And now, well, bless, but don't spend the time with stately triumphs. Motherful comic shows such as the bits of pleasure of the court. Strike up drums and trumpets. Oh, well, sour annoy, but now I hope begins our love.