Original Text |
Translated Text |
| Source: Folger Shakespeare Library |
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Alarum. Enter King Henry alone, wearing the red rose. KING HENRY
This battle fares like to the morning’s war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 5
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind.
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
Now one the better, then another best, 10
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquerèd.
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down. He sits on a small prominence. To whom God will, there be the victory; 15
For Margaret my queen and Clifford too
Have chid me from the battle, swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead, if God’s good will were so,
For what is in this world but grief and woe? 20
O God! Methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain,
To sit upon a hill as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run: 25
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times: 30
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 ewes have been with young, 35
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece;
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 40
Ah, what a life were this! How sweet, how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery? 45
O yes, it doth, a thousandfold it doth.
And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 50
Is far beyond a prince’s delicates—
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couchèd in a curious bed—
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. | On a hill, Henry watches the battle and wonders which side is winning. Then he goes all philosopher on us and thinks about the life of a king. Henry's life is full of sadness. It would have been much, much better if he were a simple shepherd. If he were a shepherd, he wouldn't have the deep worries that he has as king. |
Alarum. Enter at one door a Son that hath killed his
Father, carrying the body. SON
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 55
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessèd with some store of crowns,
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 60
Who’s this? O God! It is my father’s face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the King was I pressed forth.
My father, being the Earl of Warwick’s man, 65
Came on the part of York, pressed by his master.
And I, who at his hands received my life,
Have by my hands of life bereavèd him.
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did;
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee. 70
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks,
And no more words till they have flowed their fill. He weeps. | As Henry's talking, he notices a soldier carrying a dead soldier. The soldier searches the dead man for gold coins or anything valuable that he can pawn off. Then the live soldier removes the dead soldier's helmet. Oh, no—"[I]t is my father's face," he proclaims. The soldier has gone and killed his own father in the battle. He weeps. |
KING HENRY
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 75
Weep, wretched man. I’ll aid thee tear for tear,
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears and break, o’ercharged with grief. | Henry watches and thinks about how these civil wars are really bloody. |
Enter at another door a Father that hath killed his Son,
bearing of his Son’s body. FATHER
Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold, 80
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see: is this our foeman’s face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye! See, see, what showers arise, 85
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart
Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!
O, pity God this miserable age!
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural 90
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O, boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! | Just then, another soldier enters and does the same thing as the
first—searches for loot on a dead guy's body. Then he realizes he's
killed his own son. How will he tell his wife the news? How will he go
on living? |
KING HENRY
Woe above woe, grief more than common grief!
O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! 95
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colors of our striving houses;
The one his purple blood right well resembles,
The other his pale cheeks methinks presenteth. 100
Wither one rose and let the other flourish;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. SON
How will my mother for a father’s death
Take on with me and ne’er be satisfied! FATHER
How will my wife for slaughter of my son 105
Shed seas of tears and ne’er be satisfied! KING HENRY
How will the country for these woeful chances
Misthink the King and not be satisfied! SON
Was ever son so rued a father’s death? FATHER
Was ever father so bemoaned his son? 110 KING HENRY
Was ever king so grieved for subjects’ woe?
Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much. SON
I’ll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. He exits, bearing the body. FATHER
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulcher, 115
For from my heart thine image ne’er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be
E’en for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 120
I’ll bear thee hence, and let them fight that will,
For I have murdered where I should not kill. He exits, bearing the body. KING HENRY
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woeful than you are. | Henry says to himself that it's all the nobles' fault. They're fighting over a crown and riches when regular folk are losing their sons and fathers. The soldiers leave, and Henry feels super depressed. |
Alarums. Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince
Edward, and Exeter, all wearing the red rose. PRINCE EDWARD
Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled, 125
And Warwick rages like a chafèd bull.
Away, for Death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET
Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 130
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath
And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs, and therefore hence amain. EXETER
Away, for Vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; 135
Or else come after; I’ll away before. KING HENRY
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away!
They exit. | Things go from bad to worse when first Prince Edward and then Margaret
enter and tell Henry to run. Warwick is winning, and they've got to get
out of there. |