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 bereaved him.

Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!

And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;

And no more words till they have flowed their fill.

KING

O, piteous spectacle! O, bloody times!

Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,

Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

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.

Enter at another door a Father that hath killed his son, with the dead body in his arms

FATHER

Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,

Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;

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,

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,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!

O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

KING

Woe above woe! Grief more than common grief!

O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!

O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face,

The fatal colours of our striving houses;

The one his purple blood right well resembles;

The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!

If you contend, a thousand lives must perish.

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

Shed seas of tears, and ne’er be satisfied!

KING

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?

KING

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.

Exit with the body of his father

FATHER

These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,

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,

Even for the loss of thee, having no more,

As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I’ll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,

For I have murdered where I should not kill.