Henry VI, Part III by William Shakespeare
Act 2 - Scene 5
Another part of the field.
Son : Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
[p]This man, whom hand to hand
I slew in fight,
[p]May be possessed with some store of crowns;
[p]And
I, that haply take them from him now,
[p]May yet ere night yield both
my life and them
[p]To some man else, as this dead man doth
me.
[p]Who's this? O God! it is my father's face,
[p]Whom in this
conflict I unwares have kill'd.
[p]O heavy times, begetting such
events!
[p]From London by the king was I press'd forth;
[p]My father,
being the Earl of Warwick's man,
[p]Came on the part of York, press'd
by his master;
[p]And I, who at his hands received my life,
him
[p]Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
[p]Pardon me, God, I
knew not what I did!
[p]And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
[p]My
tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
[p]And no more words till
they have flow'd their fill.
Father : Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
[p]Give me thy gold, if thou
hast any gold:
[p]For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
[p]But
let me see: is this our foeman's face?
[p]Ah, no, no, no, it is mine
only son!
[p]Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
[p]Throw up thine
eye! see, see what showers arise,
[p]Blown with the windy tempest of
my heart,
[p]Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!
[p]O, pity,
God, this miserable age!
[p]What stratagems, how fell, how
butcherly,
[p]Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
[p]This deadly
quarrel daily doth beget!
[p]O boy, thy father gave thee life too
soon,
[p]And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
Son : How will my mother for a father's death
[p]Take on with me and ne'er
be satisfied!
Father : How will my wife for slaughter of my son
[p]Shed seas of tears and
ne'er be satisfied!
Son : Was ever son so rued a father's death?
Father : Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?
Son : I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
Father : These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
[p]My heart, sweet boy,
shall be thy sepulchre,
[p]For from my heart thine image ne'er shall
go;
[p]My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
[p]And so
obsequious will thy father be,
[p]Even for the loss of thee, having no
more,
[p]As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
[p]I'll bear thee
hence; and let them fight that will,
[p]For I have murdered where I
should not kill.
Previous: Act 2 - Scene 4
Next: Act 2 - Scene 6
