Act 1, Scene 4 — Henry VI, Part 3

The argument York is captured after his defeat at Wakefield; Margaret taunts him with a napkin soaked in Rutland's blood, places a paper crown on his head, and then has him stabbed.

Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York.

YORK ≋ verse vengeful, proud

The army of the Queen hath got the field.

My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back and fly like ships before the wind,

Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them;

But this I know, they have demeaned themselves

Like men born to renown by life or death.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me,

And thrice cried “Courage, father, fight it out!”

And full as oft came Edward to my side

With purple falchion painted to the hilt

In blood of those that had encountered him;

And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

Richard cried “Charge, and give no foot of ground!”

And cried “A crown, or else a glorious tomb!

A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!”

With this we charged again; but, out, alas!

We budged again, as I have seen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide

And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

The army of the Queen has got the field. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what has bechanced them; But this I know, they have demeaned themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me, And thrice cried “Courage, father, fight it out!” And full as oft came Edward to my side With purple falchion painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encountered him; And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried “Charge, and give no foot of ground!” And cried “A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!” With this we charged again; but, out, alas! We budged again, as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

they are dead look at the blood proof right here they charged at us

"A crown, or else a glorious tomb!" Richard's battle-cry — the absolute all-or-nothing logic of the Yorkist cause. These words come from York's report of his son's behaviour, but they define the family's psychology perfectly.

[_A short alarum within._]

Ah, hark, the fatal followers do pursue,

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;

And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.

The sands are numbered that makes up my life;

Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince Edward

and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage.

I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTHUMBERLAND resolute

Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

CLIFFORD ≋ verse resolute

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm

With downright payment showed unto my father.

Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car,

And made an evening at the noontide prick.

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm With downright payment showed unto my father. Now Phaëthon has tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick.

how did that even happen

"Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car" Phaethon stole his father's sun chariot, nearly burned the world, and was destroyed by Zeus. Clifford means: York reached for the sun (kingship) and has fallen. The image will recur throughout the trilogy.

YORK ≋ verse worried, anxious

My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

A bird that will revenge upon you all;

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not? What, multitudes, and fear?

My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all; And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? What, multitudes, and fear?

war blood death everything is chaos

CLIFFORD ≋ verse resolute

So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons;

So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,

Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

yeah brutal

YORK ≋ verse resolute

O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

And in thy thought o’errun my former time;

And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

O Clifford, but bethink you once again, And in your thought o’errun my former time; And, if you can for blushing, view this face, And bite your tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown has made you faint and fly before this.

war blood death everything is chaos

CLIFFORD ≋ verse resolute

I will not bandy with thee word for word,

But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.

I will not bandy with you word for word, But buckle with you blows twice two for one.

QUEEN MARGARET ≋ verse resolute

Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes

I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life.

Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life. Wrath makes him deaf; speak you, Northumberland.

yeah brutal

NORTHUMBERLAND ≋ verse frustrated, angry

Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.

What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,

For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,

When he might spurn him with his foot away?

It is war’s prize to take all vantages,

And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much To prick your finger, though to wound his heart. What valour were it, when a cur does grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war’s prize to take all vantages, And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

Hold, Clifford, don't honour him so much To prick your finger, though to wound his heart. What valour were it, when a cur does grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war’s prize to take all vantages, And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

war blood death everything is chaos

[_They lay hands on York, who struggles._]

CLIFFORD resolute

Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

NORTHUMBERLAND resolute

So doth the cony struggle in the net.

So does the cony struggle in the net.

[_York is taken prisoner._]

YORK ≋ verse resolute

So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatched.

So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatched.

NORTHUMBERLAND resolute

What would your Grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET ≋ verse resolute

Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,

Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,

That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.

What, was it you that would be England’s king?

Was ’t you that revelled in our parliament

And made a preachment of your high descent?

Where are your mess of sons to back you now,

The wanton Edward and the lusty George?

And where’s that valiant crook-back prodigy,

Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?

Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood

That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point

Made issue from the bosom of the boy;

And if thine eyes can water for his death,

I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

Alas, poor York, but that I hate thee deadly

I should lament thy miserable state.

I prithee grieve to make me merry, York;

Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

What, hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails

That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death?

Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad;

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.

Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

Thou would’st be fee’d, I see, to make me sport;

York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.

A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him.

Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What, was it you that would be England’s king? Was ’t you that revelled in our parliament And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now, The wanton Edward and the lusty George? And where’s that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if your eyes can water for his death, I give you this to dry your cheeks withal. Alas, poor York, but that I hate you deadly I should lament your miserable state. I please grieve to make me merry, York; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, has your fiery heart so parched your entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death? Why are you patient, man? you shouldst be mad; And I, to make you mad, do mock you thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. you would’st be fee’d, I see, to make me sport; York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him. Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What, was it you that would be England’s king? Was ’t you that revelled in our parliament And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now, The wanton Edward and the lusty George? And where’s that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if your eyes can water for his death, I give you this to dry your cheeks withal. Alas, poor York, but that I hate you deadly I should lament your miserable state. I please grieve to make me merry, York; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, has your fiery heart so parched your entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death? Why are you patient, man? you shouldst be mad; And I, to make you mad, do mock you thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. you would’st be fee’d, I see, to make me sport; York can't speak unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him. Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

they are dead look at the blood proof right here

"That raught at mountains with outstretched arms" Margaret's molehill image is perfectly calibrated: York aimed for the crown (the mountain) and has ended up standing on a molehill. The spatial humiliation is complete.

"Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood" The blood-soaked napkin — cloth dipped in Rutland's blood and used to taunt his father — is one of Shakespeare's most brutal theatrical props. Margaret keeps it as a trophy.

Why it matters Margaret's paper crown and napkin speech is one of the most theatrically extreme moments in the Henriad — and it sets up York's counterattack, which is arguably even more devastating.

[_Putting a paper crown on his head._]

Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king.

Ay, this is he that took King Henry’s chair,

And this is he was his adopted heir.

But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath?

As I bethink me, you should not be king

Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.

And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory,

And rob his temples of the diadem,

Now in his life, against your holy oath?

O, ’tis a fault too too unpardonable.

Off with the crown, and, with the crown, his head;

And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

CLIFFORD resolute

That is my office, for my father’s sake.

QUEEN MARGARET resolute

Nay, stay; let’s hear the orisons he makes.

no, stay; let’s hear the orisons he makes.

YORK ≋ verse confused, surprised

She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,

Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth!

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex

To triumph like an Amazonian trull

Upon their woes whom Fortune captivates!

But that thy face is vizard-like, unchanging,

Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.

To tell thee whence thou cam’st, of whom derived,

Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.

Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,

Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem,

Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?

It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;

Unless the adage must be verified,

That beggars mounted run their horse to death.

’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;

But God he knows thy share thereof is small.

’Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;

The contrary doth make thee wondered at.

’Tis government that makes them seem divine;

The want thereof makes thee abominable.

Thou art as opposite to every good

As the Antipodes are unto us,

Or as the south to the Septentrion.

O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide!

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face?

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;

Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

Bid’st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish:

Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will;

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,

And when the rage allays, the rain begins.

These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies,

And every drop cries vengeance for his death

’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.

She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in your sex To triumph like an Amazonian trull Upon their woes whom Fortune captivates! But that your face is vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make you blush. To tell you whence you cam’st, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame you, were you not shameless. your father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. has that poor monarch taught you to insult? It needs not, nor it boots you not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. ’Tis beauty that does oft make women proud; But God he knows your share thereof is small. ’Tis virtue that does make them most admired; The contrary does make you wondered at. ’Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes you abominable. you are as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the Septentrion. O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide! How could you drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; you stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid’st you me rage? Why, now you have your wish: would have me weep? Why, now you have your will; For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies, And every drop cries vengeance for his death ’Gainst you, fell Clifford, and you, false Frenchwoman.

they are dead look at the blood proof right here how did that even happen

"O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!" This line was quoted and mocked by Robert Greene in his 1592 pamphlet, parody-quoting it as 'tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide' — the earliest documented notice of Shakespeare's work. It was already famous in its own time.

"Thy father bears the type of King of Naples" Margaret's father René of Anjou had grandiose titles — King of Naples, Jerusalem, Sicily — but no real power or wealth. York is mocking her royal pretensions as coming from a pauper-king.

Why it matters The 'tiger's heart' speech is York's finest moment — and possibly the play's. He is dying, humiliated, wearing a paper crown, and he still delivers an oration that makes his tormentors look small. It is also the most famous line in the play, already cited in Shakespeare's lifetime.

🎭 Dramatic irony York curses Margaret that in her 'hour of need' she will find the same comfort she has given him. The play eventually fulfills this: Margaret will lose her son, her armies, and her freedom. She will be the one reduced to begging.

NORTHUMBERLAND ≋ verse resolute

Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

YORK ≋ verse frustrated, angry

That face of his the hungry cannibals

Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood;

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania.

See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears.

This cloth thou dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy,

And I with tears do wash the blood away.

Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;

And if thou tell’st the heavy story right,

Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears

And say “Alas, it was a piteous deed.”

There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;

And in thy need such comfort come to thee

As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world,

My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears. This cloth you dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep you the napkin, and go boast of this; And if you tell’st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears And say “Alas, it was a piteous deed.” There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; And in your need such comfort come to you As now I reap at your too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world, My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

That face of his the hungry cannibals wouldn't have touched, wouldn't have stained with blood; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears. This cloth you dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep you the napkin, and go boast of this; And if you tell’st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears And say “Alas, it was a piteous deed.” There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; And in your need such comfort come to you As now I reap at your too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world, My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

proof right here

NORTHUMBERLAND ≋ verse resolute

Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

I should not for my life but weep with him,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

how did that even happen

QUEEN MARGARET ≋ verse resolute

What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all,

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry your melting tears.

yeah brutal

CLIFFORD resolute

Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death.

they are dead

[_Stabbing him._]

QUEEN MARGARET resolute

And here’s to right our gentle-hearted king.

[_Stabbing him._]

YORK ≋ verse resolute

Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

Open your gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out you.

[_Dies._]

QUEEN MARGARET ≋ verse resolute

Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.

Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York.

"So York may overlook the town of York" The grim pun on York's name is entirely deliberate — the Duke of York's head will literally be displayed above the city called York. Margaret's final line is a dark witticism.

[_Flourish. Exeunt._]

The Reckoning

This is the scene everyone remembers from Henry VI Part 3. The paper crown is one of Shakespeare's most theatrical inventions — the symbol of York's ambition rendered in mockery, literally put on his head as a joke before he dies. What makes the scene extraordinary is that York, facing death and humiliation, delivers the play's most sustained piece of oratory — the 'She-wolf of France' speech — and it is magnificent. The audience watches a man earn his death with his dignity intact, while his killers look smaller with each line he speaks.

If this happened today…

A disgraced tech founder is brought before the board that fired him. The board chair makes him stand on a footstool while she reads out all his failures from a printout. She shows him a photo of something he loved destroyed. She puts a cheap plastic crown on his head as a joke and makes the board members bow. He then delivers the most devastating personal takedown of her character anyone in the room has ever heard. Some of his enemies start crying. She kills the livestream and ends the meeting.

Continue to 2.1 →