Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy
That sought to be encompassed with your crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompassed with your crown. does not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompassed with your crown. does not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
yeah brutal
Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack!
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
Withhold revenge, dear God! ’Tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.
Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack! To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! ’Tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.
Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack! To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! ’Tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.
yeah brutal
My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
Not his that spoils her young before her face.
Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,
Make war with him that climbed unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young’s defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent.
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault,
And long hereafter say unto his child,
“What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?”
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.
My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear does lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at your crown, you smiling while he knit his angry brows. He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire; you, being a king, blest with a goodly son, did yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued you a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who has not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young’s defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent. Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, “What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, My careless father fondly gave away?” Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy, And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel your melting heart To hold your own and leave your own with him.
My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear does lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at your crown, you smiling while he knit his angry brows. He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire; you, being a king, blest with a goodly son, did yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued you a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who has not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young’s defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent. Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, “What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, My careless father fondly gave away?” Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy, And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel your melting heart To hold your own and leave your own with him.
war blood death everything is chaos
Full well hath Clifford played the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,
And would my father had left me no more;
For all the rest is held at such a rate
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
Full well has Clifford played the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, did you never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, And would my father had left me no more; For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York, would your best friends did know How it does grieve me that your head is here!
Full well has Clifford played the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, did you never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, And would my father had left me no more; For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York, would your best friends did know How it does grieve me that your head is here!
how did that even happen
My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promised knighthood to our forward son.
Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.—
Edward, kneel down.
My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son. Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.— Edward, kneel down.
My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son. Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.— Edward, kneel down.
war blood death everything is chaos
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: draw your sword in right.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: draw your sword in right.
hm
The young Lancastrian prince speaks with a brisk warrior's confidence that echoes his mother more than his father — short, combative, almost contemptuous. Watch for how he deflects with logic rather than passion: 'If that be right which Warwick says is right, / There is no wrong' is a teenager's debate-team move, surprisingly sharp.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death.
they are dead
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
hm
The confrontation in this scene leads directly to Towton — fought on March 29, 1461, during a blizzard, on Palm Sunday. Estimates put the dead between 20,000 and 28,000 men, making it the bloodiest battle ever fought on English soil. Edward's figure of 'ten thousand lives' is an undercount. The battle lasted hours, fought in driving snow and wind, and ended only when the Lancastrian line broke and the rout turned into a massacre. The Lancastrian nobles fled north; many were captured and executed afterward. Henry VI escaped to Scotland. What Shakespeare stages in 2-5 (with the Son and Father tableaux) is his attempt to capture the sheer anonymous human cost of this day — a battle in which, for once, it wasn't just nobles dying. The 'ten thousand lives' line is Edward's casual arithmetic with other men's breath.
Royal commanders, be in readiness;
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
war blood death everything is chaos
I would your highness would depart the field.
The Queen hath best success when you are absent.
I would your highness would depart the field. The Queen has best success when you are absent.
I would your highness would depart the field. The Queen has best success when you are absent.
hm
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.
hm
Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay.
Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay.
Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay.
hm
Be it with resolution then to fight.
Be it with resolution then to fight.
Let's fight then, with full resolve.
hm
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence.
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry “Saint George!”
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and
Soldiers.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry “Saint George!” March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry “Saint George!” March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers.
war blood death everything is chaos
Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace
And set thy diadem upon my head,
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
Now, oath-breaking Henry, will you kneel for grace And set your crown upon my head, Or await the mortal fortune of the field?
Now, oath-breaking Henry, will you kneel for grace And set your crown upon my head, Or await the mortal fortune of the field?
yeah brutal
Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
Go rate your minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it you to be thus bold in terms Before your sovereign and your lawful king?
Go rate your minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it you to be thus bold in terms Before your sovereign and your lawful king?
yeah brutal
I am his king, and he should bow his knee.
I was adopted heir by his consent.
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
You that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Have caused him by new act of Parliament
To blot out me and put his own son in.
I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent. Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him by new act of Parliament To blot out me and put his own son in.
I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent. Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him by new act of Parliament To blot out me and put his own son in.
they charged at us
Shakespeare inherited the pre-battle parley as a theatrical convention, but it was also a real medieval military ritual. Before major engagements, heralds would exchange formal challenges and demands — giving the losing side a chance to surrender or negotiate. By Shakespeare's time this ritual had largely faded, but he uses it for extraordinary dramatic effect: the parley lets us hear both sides make their case in full before the bodies start accumulating. In 2-2, the convention collapses under the weight of personal hatreds. This is no longer a formal legal dispute — it's a grievance tournament. Richard can barely stay on his feet in the same space as Clifford. Margaret silences her own king twice. Edward measures the cost of each insult in advance. The parley fails because the wounds are too personal for any legal formula to address. Shakespeare understood that civil wars aren't won with arguments.
And reason too:
Who should succeed the father but the son?
And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son?
And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son?
hm
Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
hm
Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee,
Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.
Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer you, Or any he, the proudest of your sort.
Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer you, Or any he, the proudest of your sort.
hm
’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?
’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?
’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?
they are dead
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
hm
For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.
For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.
For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.
hm
What sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?
What sayst you, Henry, will you yield the crown?
What sayst you, Henry, will you yield the crown?
hm
Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you speak?
When you and I met at Saint Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.
Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.
how did that even happen
Then ’twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis thine.
Then ’twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis your.
Then ’twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis your.
hm
You said so much before, and yet you fled.
You said so much before, and yet you fled.
You said so much before, and yet you fled.
he got away we had him and he just left
What happens to Henry in this scene is almost unbearable to watch. He is present throughout the confrontation, yet is systematically silenced, bypassed, and instructed by the very people nominally fighting in his name. Clifford tells him to show more spine. Margaret tells him to shut up or fight. Northumberland converts his decision to stay into a passive military order. Even when Henry finally insists on his right to speak — 'I am a king, and privileged to speak' — Clifford cuts him off and tells him the wound is beyond words. Edward, when he leaves, pointedly says he breaks off the parley because Margaret won't let the gentle king speak — which is both an insult to Henry and a surprisingly accurate diagnosis. What Henry represents is kingship reduced to a ceremonial function: he knights his son beautifully, with twelve words, and that is the only moment in the scene where he acts as a king rather than as an embarrassment to both sides.
’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me from there.
’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me from there.
hm
No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.
No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.
No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.
hm
Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Northumberland, I hold you reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Northumberland, I hold you reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
yeah brutal
I slew thy father; call’st thou him a child?
I slew your father; call’st you him a child?
I slew your father; call’st you him a child?
hm
Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland,
But ere sunset I’ll make thee curse the deed.
Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As you did kill our tender brother Rutland, But before sunset I’ll make you curse the deed.
Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As you did kill our tender brother Rutland, But before sunset I’ll make you curse the deed.
yeah brutal
Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.
hm
Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
Defy them then, or else hold close your lips.
Defy them then, or else hold close your lips.
hm
I prithee, give no limits to my tongue.
I am a king, and privileged to speak.
I please, give no limits to my tongue. I am a king, and privileged to speak.
I please, give no limits to my tongue. I am a king, and privileged to speak.
hm
My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.
My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.
My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.
hm
Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.
By Him that made us all, I am resolved
That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.
Then, executioner, unsheathe your sword. By Him that made us all, I am resolved That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.
Then, executioner, unsheathe your sword. By Him that made us all, I am resolved That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.
yeah brutal
The middle section of 2-2 is one of Shakespeare's great insult tournaments, and it's worth noticing how calculated each blow is. Richard calls Margaret 'Iron of Naples' — attacking her father's pretension to a title without territory. Edward deploys the Helen of Troy comparison to say Margaret, like Helen, ruined a kingdom by being the wrong woman in the wrong bed. Margaret calls Richard a 'foul misshapen stigmatic' — weaponizing his body against him. Richard returns the favor by pointing out her baseborn origins. Each insult targets a genuine political vulnerability: Margaret's questionable royal credentials, Richard's physical appearance (which will later define him), the legitimacy of Henry's marriage. These aren't random schoolyard taunts — they are arguments, compressed into contempt. The scene shows us why civil wars are particularly vicious: the combatants know exactly where each other's wounds are.
Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts today
That ne’er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.
Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts today That ne’er shall dine unless you yield the crown.
Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts today That ne’er shall dine unless you yield the crown.
they charged at us
If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.
If you deny, their blood upon your head; For York in justice puts his armour on.
If you deny, their blood upon your head; For York in justice puts his armour on.
proof right here
If that be right which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but everything is right.
If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but everything is right.
If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but everything is right.
hm
Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
For well I wot thou hast thy mother’s tongue.
Whoever got you, there your mother stands; For well I wot you have your mother’s tongue.
Whoever got you, there your mother stands; For well I wot you have your mother’s tongue.
hm
But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
Marked by the Destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.
But you are neither like your sire nor dam, But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the Destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.
But you are neither like your sire nor dam, But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the Destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.
yeah brutal
Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king,
As if a channel should be called the sea,
Sham’st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?
Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, As if a channel should be called the sea, Sham’st you not, knowing whence you are extraught, To let your tongue detect your base-born heart?
Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, As if a channel should be called the sea, Sham’st you not, knowing whence you are extraught, To let your tongue detect your base-born heart?
war blood death everything is chaos
A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns
To make this shameless callet know herself.
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged
By that false woman as this king by thee.
His father revelled in the heart of France,
And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;
And had he matched according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day;
But when he took a beggar to his bed
And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day,
Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him
That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France
And heaped sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipped our claim until another age.
A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than you, Although your husband may be Menelaus; And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged By that false woman as this king by you. His father revelled in the heart of France, And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; And had he matched according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed And graced your poor sire with his bridal day, Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France And heaped sedition on his crown at home. For what has broached this tumult but your pride? Hadst you been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipped our claim until another age.
A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than you, Although your husband may be Menelaus; And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged By that false woman as this king by you. His father revelled in the heart of France, And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; And had he matched according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed And graced your poor sire with his bridal day, Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France And heaped sedition on his crown at home. For what has broached this tumult but your pride? Hadst you been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipped our claim until another age.
how did that even happen
George (the future Duke of Clarence) tends to speak in short bursts that elaborate or second his brothers' points — he rarely initiates, but his agricultural metaphor here ('set the axe to thy usurping root') is more vivid than you'd expect. Watch for how often he follows rather than leads.
But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.
But when we saw our sunshine made your spring, And that your summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to your usurping root; And though the edge has something hit ourselves, Yet know you, since we have begun to strike, We’ll never leave till we have hewn you down Or bathed your growing with our heated bloods.
But when we saw our sunshine made your spring, And that your summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to your usurping root; And though the edge has something hit ourselves, Yet know you, since we have begun to strike, We’ll never leave till we have hewn you down Or bathed your growing with our heated bloods.
proof right here
And in this resolution I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.
And in this resolution I defy you; Not willing any longer conference, Since you deniest the gentle King to speak.
And in this resolution I defy you; Not willing any longer conference, Since you deniest the gentle King to speak.
yeah brutal
Stay, Edward.
Stay, Edward.
Stay, Edward.
hm
No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay.
These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.
No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay. These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.
No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay. These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.
hm
The Reckoning
This scene is a war of words before the war of swords — both sides rehearsing their grievances and contempt at close range. The cruelest moment is how completely Margaret and Clifford sideline Henry, the nominal king who can't even speak without their permission. The audience leaves knowing Towton is about to begin, and that the insults exchanged here have made peace impossible.
If this happened today…
Picture a tense all-hands meeting where two rival executives each have their CEO in tow, but everyone knows the real power lies with the executives. One CEO (Henry) tries to say something conciliatory, and his own VP (Margaret) literally tells him to shut up or get in line. The other side (Edward) lays out a formal grievance, somebody's sibling (Richard) nearly physically attacks a colleague (Clifford), and then the whole thing degenerates into 'your mom's poor' insults until somebody storms out and says 'this conversation is going to destroy this company.' That's 2-2.