All language subtitles for 01-The.Hollow.Crown.S02E01.720p.BluRay

The heavens themselves,
the planets and this earth,

observe degree,
priority and place,

office and custom,
in all line of order.

Take but degree away,

untune that string,

and hark,

what discord follows!

Ripped By mstoll

King Henry V,

too famous to live long.

England ne'er lost
a king of so much worth.

England ne'er
had a king until his time.

His sparkling eyes,

replete with wrathful fire.

More dazzled and drove back
his enemies than midday sun

fierce bent against their faces.

Henry V,
thy ghost I invocate.

Prosper this realm,
keep it from civil broils.

Combat with adverse
planets in the heavens.

A far more glorious star
thy soul will make,

than Julius Caesar, or bright...

My honorable lords.

Sad tidings bring I
to you out of France,

of loss, of slaughter
and discomfiture.

Paris, Gisors, Poitiers
are all quite lost.

What sayest thou, man, before dead
Henry's corpse? Speak softly.

The loss of those great towns will make
him burst his lead and rise from death.

Is Paris lost?

Is Gisors yielded up?

If Henry were
recalled to life again,

these news would cause him
once more yield the ghost.

How were they lost?
What treachery was used?

No treachery, but want
of men and money.

Of England's coat
one half is cut away.

Were our tears
wanting to this funeral,

these tidings would call
forth their flowing tides.

Give me my steeled coat.
I'll fight for France.

Wounds will I lend the
French instead of eyes,

to weep their
intermissive miseries.

O whither shall we fly
from this reproach?

We will not fly, but to
our enemies' throats.

Exeter, if thou be slack,
I'll fight it out.

Gloucester, why doubt'st
thou of my forwardness?

An army have I mustered in my thoughts
wherewith already France is overrun.

My gracious Lord,

to add to your laments, wherewith
you now bedew King Henry's hearse,

I must inform you
of the fight for Orleans

betwixt the stout lords,
Talbot and Salisbury,

and the French.

Salisbury!

The camp by night
was overrun.

Talbot slain?

No.

Talbot lives,
but forced to flee Orleans.

Farewell, my masters. Bonfires in
France forthwith I am to make,

to warm our great
Saint George's feast.

I'll either quell
the Dauphin utterly,

or bring him in obedience
to our yoke. Come.

I'll to the Tower
with all the haste I can,

and there I will proclaim
young Henry King.

Your Majesty.

Brakenbury?

My Lord, your loving nephew.

Richard Plantagenet, is he come?

Ay, noble uncle,

your nephew, Richard, comes.

Direct mine arms,
I may embrace his neck.

Poor gentleman,
your wrong doth equal mine.

Deprived of honor
and inheritance.

But now,
the arbitrator of despairs,

just death,

kind umpire of men's miseries,

with sweet enlargements
doth dismiss me hence.

I would his troubles
were expired,

that you might recover
what is lost.

Good uncle,
for my father's sake,

in honor of a true Plantagenet

and for alliance sake,
declare the cause.

Henry IV, grandfather
to the young king,

deposed his true King Richard.

I should have been
the rightful next by birth

when my friends
opposed this usurpment,

and worked to instate me
the rightful heir.

I lost my liberty
and they their lives.

Are you the rightful king?

And I thy heir?

Silence, nephew,
be thou politic.

Strong fixed is the
house of Lancaster,

and, like a mountain,
not to be removed.

And so, farewell,

and fair be all thy hopes,

and prosperous be thy life

in peace and war.

Here dies the dusky
torch of Mortimer.

And now, for all those wrongs,

those bitter injuries,

which too long
fate hath offered to my house,

I silently swear
with honor to redress.

My great uncle was Edmund
Mortimer, who married Philippa,

sole daughter unto Lionel,
Duke of Clarence.

Therefore, so if the issue of the
elder son succeed the younger,

I am King.

The truth appears
so naked on my side,

that any purblind eye
could seek it out.

Since you are tongue-tied
and so loath to speak,

let him that is
a true-born gentleman,

if he suppose that
I have pleaded truth,

from off this brier pluck

a white rose with me.

Let him that is no coward
nor no flatterer

pluck a red rose
from off this thorn with me.

I love no colors.

And without all color of
base insinuating flattery,

I pluck this white rose
with My Lord.

I pluck this red rose
with brave Somerset,

and say withal
I think he held the right.

Stay, lords and
gentlemen, and pluck no more,

till you conclude
that he upon whose side

the fewest roses
are cropped from the tree,

shall yield the other
in the right opinion.

Good Lord of Warwick,
it is well objected.

If I have fewest,
I subscribe in silence.

And I.

Then, for the truth

and plainness of the case,

I pluck this pale
and maiden blossom here,

giving my verdict
on the white rose side.

Well, well.
Come on, who else?

Now, Somerset,
where is your argument?

Here in my scabbard,

meditating that shall dye your
white rose in a bloody red.

Meantime...

Your cheeks do counterfeit our
roses, for pale they look with fear.

Not for fear, but anger, that yet thy
tongue will not confess thy error.

Proud fool, be gone!

I scorn both him and thee.

Turn not thy scorns
this way, Plantagenet.

I'll turn my dagger
here into thy throat.

Let us away, good Suffolk.

We grace this yeoman
by conversing with him.

Now, by God's will, thou
wrong'st him, Somerset!

Was not thy father
for treason executed?

His trespass yet lives
guilty in thy blood,

and till thou be restored,
thou art a yeoman.

My father was no traitor,

and that I'll prove on
better men than Somerset,

and scourge you
for this apprehension.

Look to it well,
say you are well warned.

Thou shalt find us
ready for thee still,

and know us by these
colors for thy foes.

For these my friends, in
spite of thee, shall wear.

And, by my soul,

this pale and angry rose,

as symbol white
of my blood-drinking hate,

shall I, forever,

and my faction, wear.

Go forward, and be choked
with thy ambition.

Oh!

Gloucester.

Com'st thou with deep
premeditated lines?

With written pamphlets,
studiously devised?

Humphrey of Gloucester,
if thou canst accuse,

do it without invention,
suddenly.

As I with sudden
and extemporal speech

purpose to answer
what thou canst object.

Your Majesty?

Presumptuous priest, this
place commands my patience,

or thou shouldst find
thou hast dishonored me.

Thou art a most
pernicious usurer,

forward by nature,
enemy to peace.

Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
a man of thy profession and degree.

Beside, I fear me,
if thy thoughts were sifted,

the King, thy sovereign,
is not quite exempt

from envious malice
of thy swelling heart.

Gloucester, I do defy thee.

If I were covetous,

ambitious, or perverse,
as he would have me,

how am I so poor?

It is not that that hath
incensed the Duke.

It is because no one
should sway but he.

No one but he should
be about the King,

and that engenders
thunder in his breast

and makes him roar
these accusations forth.

Am I not Protector,
saucy priest?

Unreverent Gloucester!

Thou art reverent touching thy
spiritual function, not thy life.

Rome shall remedy this.

Roam thither, then.

Uncles of Gloucester
and of Winchester,

I would prevail,
if prayers might prevail,

to join your hearts in love

and amity.

O, what a scandal
is it to our crown,

that two such noble peers
as ye should jar?

Believe me, lords,

my tender years can tell,

civil dissension
is a viperous worm,

that gnaws the bowels
of the commonwealth.

O, how this discord
doth afflict my soul.

Can you, My Lord of Winchester,
behold my sighs and tears,

and will not once relent?

Who should study
to prefer a peace

if holy churchmen
take delight in broils?

Yield, My Lord Protector.

Yield, Winchester.

He shall submit,
or I will never yield.

Compassion on the King
commands me stoop.

Behold, my Lord of Winchester,

the Duke hath banished
moody discontented fury.

Why look you still
so stern and tragical?

Here, Winchester,
I offer thee my hand.

Fie,

holy uncle,

I have heard you preach that malice
is a great and grievous sin,

and will not you maintain
the thing you teach?

Well, Duke of Gloucester,
I will yield to thee.

O, loving uncle,
kind Duke of Gloucester,

how joyful am I made
by this contract.

Accept this appeal,
gracious sovereign,

and hear the right
of Richard Plantagenet.

Uh...

Well urged, my Lord of Warwick,

for sweet prince, you have great
reason to do Richard right.

My loving lords,

our pleasure is that Richard
be restored to his blood.

Thy humble servant
vows obedience,

and humble service
to the point of death.

Stoop, then, and set
thy knee against my foot.

And in return of that duty done,

I gird thee with the
valiant sword of York.

Rise, Richard,
like a true Plantagenet.

And rise created
princely Duke of York.

And so thrive Richard,

and so perish they

that grudge one thought
against Your Majesty.

Welcome, high prince,

mighty Duke of York.

Perish, base prince,
ignoble Duke of York.

Now will it
best avail Your Majesty

to cross the seas
and to be crowned in France.

The presence of a king engenders
love amongst his subjects

and his loyal friends,
as it disanimates his enemies.

When Gloucester says the
word, King Henry goes,

for friendly counsel
cuts off many foes.

Your ships already
are in readiness.

God save King Henry
of England and of France,

of that name VI.

God save the King.

My gracious sovereign,

as we rode from Calais in
haste unto your coronation,

a letter was delivered to my
hands, writ to Your Grace

from the Dauphin of France.

My Lord Protector,

view the letter.

"To the King."

Hath he forgot
he is his sovereign?

"I have upon especial cause,

"moved with compassion
of my country's wrack,

"led by one Joan la Pucelle

"taken back the town
of Rouen, lost,

"thrown out your lordships
occupying there,

"and am hailed by my people,

"Charles, the rightful
King of France."

O, monstrous treachery!

Doth France revolt?

It doth, My Lord,
and is become your foe.

Now, then, Lord Talbot,

you must return to Charles and give
him chastisement for this abuse.

How say you, My Lord,
are you content?

Content, my liege?

I should have begged
I might have been employed.

Then gather strength
from these assembled here.

Somerset, you have scores
of horsemen, have you not?

I have, My Lord.

Will you help good
Talbot curb the French?

I swear I shall supply
him what he needs.

Now, with full power, march
unto Charles straight.

Let him perceive
how ill we brook his treason,

and what offense it is
to flout a friend.

I go, My Lord,

in heart desiring
still you may behold

confusion of your foes.

Lords Somerset and York,
I pray, come hither.

I see no reason,
if I wear this rose,

that anyone should
therefore be suspicious

I more incline
to Somerset than York.

Both are my kinsmen,
and I love them both.

As we hither came in peace,

so let us still
continue peace and love.

Cousin of York,

we institute Your Grace to be our
regent in these parts of France.

And, good my Lord of Somerset,

unite your troops of horsemen
with his bands of foot

and, like true subjects,
both follow Talbot,

and our valiant uncle Exeter

back to Rouen and to
this traitor Charles.

Go cheerfully together

and digest your angry
choler on your enemies.

Prettily the King
did play the orator.

And so he did,

but yet, I like it not he
wears the badge of Somerset.

Tush, that was but his fancy.
Blame him not.

I dare presume, sweet prince,

he thought no harm.

But let it rest.

Other affairs
must now be managed.

Well didst Richard of York
suppress his voice.

For had the passions
of his heart burst out,

I fear we should have seen deciphered
there more rancorous spite,

more furious raging broils than
yet can be imagined or supposed.

'Tis much when scepters
are in children's hands,

but more when envy

breeds unkind division.

There comes the rain,

there begins confusion.

Joan.

Joan.

Joan?

Joan.

Look on thy country.

Look on fertile France,

and see the cities
and the towns defaced

by wasting ruin
of the cruel foe.

We, little herd of
England's timorous deer,

mazed with a yelping
kennel of French curs.

If we be English deer,
be then in blood,

not rascal-like,
to fall down with a pinch,

but rather,
moody-mad desperate stags.

Good men, I am by birth
a shepherd's daughter,

my wit untrained
in any kind of art.

Turn on the bloody hounds
with heads of steel

and make the cowards
stand aloof at bay.

Whilst I prayed
unto the holy lamb,

God's mother deigned
to appear to me.

And in a vision full of Majesty,

willed me to leave
my base vocation

and free my country
from calamity.

God and Saint George,
Talbot and England's right,

prosper our colors
in this dangerous fight!

Lord Somerset?

How now, Sir William,
whither were you sent?

Whither, Somerset.

From bought
and sold Lord Talbot,

who ringed about
with bold adversity,

cries out for noble
Somerset's promised horse.

Say, will you send your troops?

It is too late,
I cannot send them now.

This expedition was by York and
Talbot too rashly plotted.

The over-daring
Talbot hath sullied

all his gloss of former glory

by this unheedful,
desperate, wild adventure.

York set him on,
York should provide him aid.

And York, as fast upon
Your Grace exclaims,

swearing that you withhold
your promised aid.

York lies.

He might have sent
and had the horse.

I owe him little duty
and less love.

The fraud of England,
not the force of France,

hath now entrapp'd
the noble-minded Talbot.

He dies, betrayed to
fortune by your strife.

And on his son, young John,

of whom, two hours since,
news did arrive

that he is speeding
to his warlike father.

Come! Go.

I will dispatch
the horsemen straight.

Within six hours,
they will be at his aid.

Too late comes rescue,
he is ta'en or slain.

If he be dead,

brave Talbot, then, adieu.

His fame lives in the world,

his shame in you.

Father!

John!

John, I did send for thee,

that Talbot's name
might be in thee revived.

Now thou art come
unto a feast of death,

a terrible and unavoided danger.

Therefore, dear boy,
mount on my swiftest horse,

and I'll direct thee how thou
shalt escape by sudden flight.

Come, dally not, be gone.

Is my name Talbot?
And am I your son?

And shall I fly?

O, if you love my mother,

dishonor not her name to make
a bastard and a slave of me.

You fly to revenge
my death if I be slain.

He that flies so
will ne'er return again.

If we both stay,
we both are sure to die.

Then let me stay
and, Father, do you fly.

Here on my knee I beg mortality,

rather than life
preserved with infamy.

Upon my blessing,
I command thee, go!

To fight I will,
but not to fly the foe.

Stay, go, do what you will,
the like do I.

For live I will not,
if my father die.

Come, side by side,

together live and die,

and soul with soul
from France to heaven fly.

Where is young Talbot?

Where is valiant John?

Where is my other life?

No.

O, John.

Dizzy-eyed fury

and great rage of heart,

suddenly made thou from my side

to start into the clustering
battle of the French.

And there,

in that sea of blood,

my boy did drench
his over-mounting spirit,

and there died my Icarus,

my blossom,

in his pride.

Had York and Somerset
brought rescue in,

we should have found
a bloody day of this.

Hew them to pieces.

Hack their bones asunder,

whose life was England's glory,

Gallia's wonder.
O, no, forbear.

For that which we have
fled during the life,

let us not wrong it dead.

Where is the Dauphin?

The day is ours, base wretches.

Thy forces are o'erwhelmed
by God and France.

Who art thou, devil?

Where's the great
Alcides of the field?

Valiant Lord Talbot,
Earl of Shrewsbury.

O, were mine eyeballs
into bullets turned,

that I, in rage, might
shoot them in your faces.

Go, take their bodies hence.

We will bear them hence.

O, that we could call
the dead to life,

it were enough to fright
the realm of France.

The English army that divided
was into two parties,

must now conjoin

in one.

From Talbot's sacred
ashes shall be reared

a phoenix that will make
all France afeared.

Again!

Joan. Joan.

Joan.

Joan.

Joan.

Fairest woman,

do not fear nor fly,

for I will touch thee
but with reverent hands.

I kiss these fingers

for eternal peace

and lay them gently
at thy tender side.

Who art thou?

Say, that I may honor thee.

Margaret, my name,

and daughter to a Duke.

The Duke of Anjou,
whosoe'er thou art.

An earl, I am,

and Somerset am called.

Say, Somerset,
if thy name be so,

what ransom must I pay
before I pass?

For I perceive
I am thy prisoner.

Why speak'st thou not?

What ransom must I pay?

Gentle princess,
would you not suppose

your bondage happy.

To be made a queen?

To be a queen in bondage
is more vile

than is a slave
in base servility.

For princes should be free.

And so shall you,

if happy England's
royal king be free.

Why?

What concerns
his freedom unto me?

I'll undertake to
make thee Henry's queen,

to put a precious crown
upon thy head,

if thou wilt
condescend to be my...

What?

His love.

I am unworthy
to be Henry's wife.

No, gentle madam. I unworthy
am to woo so fair a dame

to be his wife.

How say you, madam,
are ye so content?

And,

if my father please,

I am content.

Then, madam,

at your father's castle
walls we'll crave a parley

to confer with him.

Where art thou, witch?

Damsel of France,
I think I have you fast.

A plaguing mischief
light on thee,

and may ye be suddenly surprised

by bloody hands,
in sleeping on your bed.

Fell banning hag,
enchantress, hold thy tongue.

I prithee, give me
leave to curse awhile!

Curse, miscreant, when
thou com'st to the stake.

See, Anjou.

See thy daughter prisoner.

What remedy? I am a
soldier, and unapt to weep,

or to exclaim
on fortune's fickleness.

There is remedy enough, My Lord.

Consent, and for
thy honor give consent

thy daughter shall
be wedded to my king.

Her, I, with pain have
wooed and won thereto,

and this, her easy-held
imprisonment,

hath gained thy daughter
princely liberty.

Speaks he as he thinks?

Fair Margaret knows the Earl of
Somerset doth not flatter nor feign.

Welcome, brave earl,
into our territories.

Command to Anjou
what your honor pleases.

Thanks, Anjou,

happy for so sweet a child

for to be made
companion to a king.

What answer makes
Your Grace unto my suit?

Since thou dost deign
to woo her little worth

to be the princely bride
of such a lord...

Upon condition,
I may quietly enjoy mine own,

the country Maine and Anjou,

my daughter shall be
Henry's, if he please.

That is her ransom.

I deliver her, and those two
counties I will undertake

Your Grace shall
well and quietly enjoy.

And I again,
in Henry's royal name,

give thee her hand

for sign of plighted faith.

Anjou of France,
I give thee kingly thanks,

for this is
in traffic of a king.

I'll over then to England
with this news,

and make this marriage
to be solemnized.

So farewell, Anjou.

I'll set this diamond safe

in golden palaces,
as it becomes.

I do embrace thee,
as I would embrace

the Christian prince,
King Henry,

were he here.

Farewell, My Lord.

Good wishes, praise and prayers

shall Somerset
ever have of Margaret.

Farewell, sweet madam.

But hark you, Margaret, no
princely commendations to my king?

Such commendations
as becomes a maid,

a virgin and his servant
say to him.

And this withal.

That for thyself.

I will not so presume to send
such peevish tokens to a king.

Bring forth the sorceress!

No!

No! Please, no!

No!
Tie her to the stake,

for she hath lived too long,

to fill the world
with vicious qualities.

First, let me tell you
whom you have condemned.

Not me, begotten
of a shepherd swain,

but issued from
the progeny of kings.

Chosen from above to work
exceeding miracles on earth.

I never had to do
with wicked spirits!

But you,

that are polluted
with your lusts,

stained by the guiltless
blood of innocents.

You judge it straight
a thing impossible

to compass wonders
but by help of devils.

Joan of Arc

hath been chaste

and immaculate in very thought.

Whose maiden-blood,
thus rigorously abused,

will cry for vengeance
at the gates of heaven!

Place barrels of pitch
upon the fatal stake

that so her torture
may be shortened.

Dispatch her straight!

Will nothing turn
your unrelenting hearts?

Use no entreaty,
for it is in vain.

May never glorious sun
reflex his beams

upon the country
where you make abode,

but darkness and the gloomy
shade of death environ you,

till mischief and despair

drive you to break your necks
or hang yourselves.

Break thou in pieces,
and consume to ashes,

thou foul, accursed
minister of hell.

Your wondrous, rare
description, noble Earl,

of beauteous Margaret
hath astonished me.

Her virtues,

graced with external gifts,

do breed love's settled
passions in my heart.

And like as rigor
of tempestuous gusts

provokes the mightiest
hulk against the tide,

so am I driven,

by breath of her renown,
either to suffer shipwreck

or arrive where I may have
fruition of her love.

Tush, my good Lord,

this superficial tale is but a
preface of her worthy praise.

The chief perfections
of that lovely dame,

had I sufficient skill
to utter them,

would make a volume
of enticing lines.

And, which is more,
she is not so divine,

but with as humble
lowliness of mind,

she is content
to be at your command

to love and honor
Henry as her Lord.

And otherwise
will Henry ne'er presume.

Therefore, my Lord Protector,

give consent that Margaret
of Anjou be England's queen.

So should I give consent
to flatter sin?

You know, My Lord,

your highness is betrothed
unto another lady of esteem,

the daughter of
the Earl of Armagnac.

How shall we then dispense
with that contract

and not deface Your
Honor with reproach?

As doth a ruler
with unlawful oaths.

A poor earl's daughter
is unequal odds,

and therefore may be
broke without offense.

Why, what, I pray, is
Margaret more than that?

Her father is
no better than an earl.

Her father is of authority so great as
his alliance will confirm our peace,

and keep the Frenchmen
in allegiance.

And so the
Earl of Armagnac may do.

Beside, his wealth doth
warrant a liberal dower,

where Anjou sooner
will receive than give.

A dower, My Lord?

Disgrace not so your king that he
should be so abject, base and poor

to choose for wealth,
and not for perfect love.

Henry is able to
enrich his queen,

not seek a queen
to make him rich.

So worthless peasants
bargain for their wives

as market-men for oxen, sheep or horse.

Marriage is a matter
of more worth.

Whom should we match
with Henry, being a king,

but Margaret?

Her valiant courage
and undaunted spirit

will answer our hope
in issue of a king.

For Henry, son unto a conqueror,

is likely to beget
more conquerors,

if with a lady of so high
resolve as is fair Margaret

he be linked in love.

Take shipping post,
My Lord, to France.

Agree to any covenants,

and procure that Lady Margaret
do vouchsafe to come,

to cross the seas to England

and be crowned King Henry's
faithful and anointed queen.

And you, good uncle,
banish all offense.

If you do censure me by what
you were, not what you are,

I know it will excuse this
sudden execution of my will.

No matter...

As by Your High
Imperial Majesty,

I had in charge
at my depart for France,

to secure Princess
Margaret for Your Grace.

I have perform'd my task

and humbly now upon my knee

in sight of England and her
lordly peers deliver up

the happiest gift
that ever marquis gave,

the fairest queen
that ever king received.

Welcome, Queen Margaret.

I can express no kinder sign
of love than this kind kiss.

O, Lord, that lends me life,

lend me a heart
replete with thankfulness.

For thou hast given me
in this beauteous face

a world of earthly
blessings to my soul.

If sympathy of love
unite our thoughts?

Great King of England

and my gracious Lord,

the mutual conference
my mind hath made

by day, by night,

waking and in my dreams,
with you, my sovereign,

makes me the bolder
to salute my king.

Lords,

with one cheerful voice,

welcome my love.

Long live
Queen Margaret,

England's happiness!

We thank you all.

My Lord Protector.

So it please Your Grace,

here are details
of the contracted peace

between our sovereign

and the French King, Charles.

"It is agreed between
the French King Charles,

"and William, Duke of Somerset,

"ambassador for Henry,
King of England,

"that the said Henry shall
espouse the Lady Margaret,

"and crown her
Queen of England."

Hear! Hear!
"That the Duchy of Anjou,

"the cities of Rouen and of
Paris and the county of Maine

"shall be released and
delivered to the French king."

Uncle, how now?

Pardon me, gracious Lord.

A sudden qualm hath
struck me at the heart

and dimmed mine eyes,
that I can read no further.

Uncle of Winchester,
I pray, read on.

"And she be sent over at the
King of England's own cost,

"without having any dowry."

They please us well.

Thanks, Uncle Winchester.

Come, let us in.

Brave peers of England,
pillars of the state,

to you Duke Humphrey
must unload his grief.

What? Did my brother
Henry spend his youth,

his valor, coin and people,
in the wars?

Did he so often lodge
in open field,

in winter's cold and
summer's parching heat,

to conquer France,
his true inheritance?

And did the noble
Salisbury and Talbot

give up their lives
to keep what Henry got?

Have you yourselves

received deep scars
in France and Normandy?

And shall these labors
and these honors die?

O, peers of England,
shameful is this league!

Fatal this marriage,
canceling your fame,

defacing monuments
in conquer'd France,

undoing all,
as if all had never been!

Gloucester, what means
this passionate discourse?

For France, 'tis ours,
and we will keep it still.

Ay, we will keep it, if we can,

but now it is impossible
we should.

Somerset hath given Anjou
and Maine unto the Dauphin,

who now we must call King!

Anjou and Maine!
I fought to win them both,

and are the cities
that I got with wounds

delivered up again
with peaceful words?

France should have torn
and rent my very heart,

before I would have
yielded to this league.

I never read but England's kings

have had great sums of gold
and dowries with their wives.

And our King Henry
gives away his own,

to match with her
that brings no vantages!

She should have stayed in
France and starved in France!

My Lord of Gloucester,
now ye grow too hot.

My Lord of Winchester,
I know your mind.

'Tis not my speeches
that you do mislike,

but 'tis my presence
that doth trouble ye.

Lordings, farewell.
And say, when I am gone,

I prophesied France
will be lost ere long.

So, there goes our
Protector in a rage.

'Tis known to you
he is mine enemy.

Nay, more, an enemy unto us all.

And no great friend,
I fear me, to the King.

Consider, sir,
he is the next of blood

and heir apparent
to the English crown.

I fear me that for all
his flattering gloss,

he will be found
a dangerous Protector.

Why should he then
protect our sovereign,

he being of age
to govern of himself?

My Lord of Winchester,
join you with me,

and together,
with the Duke of Somerset,

we'll quickly hoist Duke
Humphrey from his seat.

The day will come
when York shall claim his own,

and when I spy advantage,
claim the crown.

Nor shall proud Lancaster
usurp my right,

nor wear the diadem
upon his head,

whose church-like humors
fits not for a king.

Then, York, be still awhile,
till time do serve.

Watch thou and wake,
when others be asleep,

to pry into the secrets
of the state.

Till Henry, surfeiting
in joys of love...

...and Humphrey with the
peers be fallen at jars.

Then will I raise aloft
the milk-white rose,

and force perforce I'll
make him yield the crown,

whose bookish rule hath
pulled fair England down.

Why droops my Lord
like over-ripened corn?

Why doth the great Duke
Humphrey knit his brows?

Why are thine eyes
fixed to the sullen earth,

gazing on that which
seems to dim thy sight?

What seest thou there?

King Henry's crown?

If so, gaze on,

and grovel on thy face until thy
head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand,

reach at the glorious gold.

What, is't too short?

I'll lengthen it with mine.

And, having both together heaved it up,
we'll both lift our heads to heaven.

O, Nell, sweet Nell,
if thou dost love thy Lord,

banish the canker
of ambitious thoughts.

And may that hour,
when I imagine ill

against my King and nephew,

virtuous Henry,

be my last breathing
in this mortal world.

My troublous dream this
night has made me sad.

What dreamed my Lord?

Tell me,

and I'll requite it with sweet
rehearsal of my morning's dream.

Me thought this staff,

mine office-badge in court,

was broke in twain
by whom I have forgot.

But, as I think,
it was by th' Cardinal.

And on the pieces
of the broken wand

were placed the heads
of Somerset and Suffolk.

This was my dream.

What it doth bode, God knows.

This was nothing
but an argument.

That he that breaks a stick
of Gloucester's grove

shall lose his head
for his presumption.

But list to me,

my Humphrey, my sweet Duke.

Me thought I sat
in seat of majesty

in the cathedral church
of Westminster,

and in that chair where kings
and queens are crowned,

where Henry and Dame
Margaret kneeled to me,

and on my head
did set the diadem.

Nay, Eleanor,
then must I chide outright.

Art thou not second
woman in the realm,

and the Protector's wife,
beloved of him?

And wilt thou still be
hammering treachery,

to tumble down
thy husband and thyself

from top of honor
to disgrace's feet?

Away from me,
and let me hear no more!

What? What, are you so choleric with
Eleanor, for telling but her dream?

Next time I'll keep my dreams
unto myself, and not be checked.

My Lord Protector,

'tis his highness' pleasure you
do prepare to join the assembly

that lately gathers
at Westminster.

I go.

Nell, thou wilt come with us?

Yes, my good Lord,
I'll follow presently.

What?

Shall King Henry
be a pupil still

under the surly
Gloucester's governance?

Am I a queen
in title and in style

and must be made
a subject to a duke?

I tell thee, sir,
when we first met,

I thought King Henry had resembled thee
in courage, courtship and proportion.

But all his mind
is bent to holiness,

to number Ave-Memes
on ms beads.

I would the college of the
cardinals would choose him Pope,

and carry him to Rome.

That were a state
fit for His Holiness.

Madam, be patient.

As I was cause Your
Highness came to England,

so will I In England work
Your Grace's full content.

Beside the Lord Protector,

have we Winchester,
the imperious churchman,

Suffolk, Exeter,
and grumbling York.

And not the least of these but can
do more in England than the King.

Not all these lords
do vex me half so much

as that proud dame,

the Lord Protector’s wife.

She sweeps in through Court

with troops of ladies,

more like an empress
than Duke Humphrey's wife.

Strangers in court
do take her for the Queen.

She bears a Duke's revenues
on her back,

and in her heart,
she scorns our poverty.

Shall I not live
to be avenged on her?

She vaunted 'mongst her
minions t'other day,

the very train of her
worst wearing gown

was better worth than
all my father's lands,

till Somerset gave two
dukedoms for his daughter.

Madam, myself have
limed a bush for her,

and placed a choir
of such enticing birds

that she will light
to listen to the lays

and never mount to
trouble you again. So...

Let her rest.

And, madam, list to me,

for I am bold
to counsel you in this.

Although we fancy not
the Cardinal,

yet must we join with him
and with the lords

till we have brought
Duke Humphrey in disgrace.

Then, one by one,

we'll weed them all at last,

and you yourself shall
steer the happy helm.

If York have ill-demeaned
himself in France,

then let him be denied
the regentship.

If Suffolk be unworthy
of the place,

let York be Regent.
I will yield to him.

Whether Your Grace
be worthy, yea or no,

dispute not that
York is the worthier.

Ambitious Warwick,
let thy betters speak.

The Cardinal's not
my better in the field.

All in this presence
are thy betters, Warwick.

Warwick may live
to be the best of all.

Show some reason, Somerset.

Why Suffolk should be
preferred in this!

Because the King, forsooth,
would have it so.

Madam, the King is old enough
himself to give his censure.

These are no women's matters.

If he be old enough,

what needs Your Grace to be
Protector of His Excellence?

Madam, I am
Protector of the realm,

and at his pleasure
will resign my place.

Resign it then...

...and leave thine insolence.

Since thou wert King,

and who is King but thou,

the commonwealth
hath daily run to wrack,

the Dauphin hath prevailed
beyond the seas,

and all the peers
and nobles of the realm

have been as bondsmen
to thy sovereignty.

The commons
hast thou racked.

The clergy's bags are lank and
lean with thy extortions.

Thy sumptuous buildings
and thy wife's attire

have cost a mass of public treasury.

The sale of offices
and towns in France,

if they were known,
as the suspect is great,

would make thee quickly
hop without thy head.

Enough!

The King knows what he knows.

Oh!

Give me my fan.

What, minion?

Can ye not?

Proud Frenchwoman.

Could I come near your
beauty with my nails,

I'd set my 10 commandments
in your face!

Sweet aunt, be quiet,
'twas against her will.

Against her will!

Good king,

look to't in time.

She shall not strike
Dame Eleanor unrevenged.

Your Majesty.

What a point, My Lord,
your falcon made!

And what a pitch she flew
above the rest!

No marvel,
and it like your Majesty,

my Lord Protector's
hawks do tower so well.

They know their master
loves to be aloft,

and bears his thoughts
above a falcon's pitch.

My Lord, 'tis but
a base ignoble mind

that mounts no higher
than a bird can soar.

I thought as much he would
be above the clouds.

Why, Somerset, England
knows thine insolence.

And thy ambition, Gloucester.

I prithee, peace, good queen,

and whet not on
these furious peers.

For blessed are the
peacemakers on earth.

Mmm.

The winds grow high,

so do your stomachs, lords.

I pray, let me
compound this strife.

What tidings
with our holy uncle?

Such as my heart
doth tremble to unfold.

Lady Eleanor,
the Protector's wife,

hath practiced dangerously
against your state.

Raising up wicked spirits
from underground,

demanding of King Henry's
life and death,

and other of
Your Highness' privy council.

As more at large
Your Grace shall understand.

And so, my Lord Protector,
by this means,

your lady is forthcoming
yet at London.

This news, I think, hath
turned your weapon's edge.

Ambitious Lord,
leave to afflict my heart.

Sorrow and grief have
vanquished all my powers.

And, vanquished as I am,
I yield to thee.

Oh, God, what mischiefs
work the wicked ones!

Heaping confusion on
their own heads thereby.

Gloucester, see here
the tainture of thy nest.

And look thyself be
faultless, thou wert best.

Madam, for myself,
to heaven I do appeal,

how I have loved my king
and commonweal.

And for my wife,
I know not how it stands.

Sorry I am to hear
what I have heard.

Noble she is,

but if she have forgot honor and
virtue and conversed with such,

I banish her my bed and company.

And give her as a prey
to law and shame,

that hath dishonored
Gloucester's honest name.

Well...

For this night
we will repose us here.

Tomorrow toward London
back again,

to look into this
business thoroughly.

Come on!

Stand forth,
Dame Eleanor Cobham.

In sight of God and us,

your guilt is great.

Receive the sentence
of the law for sin

such as by God's book
are adjudged to death.

You, madam,

for you are so nobly born, shall...

...after three days'
open penance done,

live in your country
here in banishment,

with Sir John Glasdale,
in the Isle of Man.

Welcome is my banishment.

Welcome is my death.

Eleanor...

The law, thou see'st,

hath judged thee.

I cannot justify
whom the law condemns.

Mine eyes are full of
tears, my heart of grief.

Ah, Humphrey,

this dishonor in thine age will bring
thy head with sorrow to the ground.

I do beseech Your Majesty,
give me leave to go.

Sorrow would solace
and mine age would ease.

Stay!

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester,

ere thou go, give up thy staff.

Henry will to himself
Protector be,

and God shall be my guide.

But go in peace, Humphrey,

no less beloved than when thou
wert Protector to thy king.

I see no reason why a
king of years should be

protected like a child.

God and King Henry
govern England's realm!

Give up your staff, sir,
and the King his realm.

My staff.

Here, noble Henry,

is my staff.

As willingly do I
the same resign

as e'er thy father
Henry made it mine.

And even as willingly
at thy feet I leave it,

as others would
ambitiously receive it.

Farewell, good King.

When I am dead and gone,

may honorable peace
attend thy throne.

This staff of honor wrought,

there let it stand

where it best fits to be,
in Henry's hand.

Move! Move!

Eleanor!

Come you, My Lord,
to see my open shame?

Now thou dost penance, too.
Hear how they mock!

Ah, Gloucester.

Hide thee from
their hateful taunts,

and in thy closet
pent up, rue my shame.

And ban thine enemies,
both mine and thine.

Be patient, gentle Nell,
forget this grief.

Ah, Gloucester, teach
me to forget myself.

For whilst I think
I am thy married wife,

methinks I should not
thus be led along,

mailed up in shame,
with papers on my back.

The ruthless flint doth cut my
tender feet, and when I start,

the envious people laugh.

Ah. Humphrey!

Can I bear this shameful yoke?

Now dark shall be my light
and night my day.

To think upon my pomp
shall be my hell.

Please you, Sir John,
protect my lady here!

And treat her not the worse in
that I pray you, use her well!

Sometime I'll say,

I am Duke Humphrey's wife, and he
a prince and ruler of the land!

Yet so he ruled and such a
prince he was, as he stood by,

whilst I, his forlorn duchess,

was made a wonder
and a pointing-stock.

For Somerset, and York

and that false priest, of all
limed bushes to betray thy wings.

And fly thou how thou canst,

they'll tangle thee.
Gentle, Nell, forbear!

Thou aimest all awry.

I must offend
before I be attainted.

And had I twenty times
so many foes,

all these could not
procure me any scathe,

so long as I am loyal,
true and crimeless.

Thy greatest help
is quiet, gentle Nell,

I pray thee,
sort thy heart to patience,

these few days' wonder
will be quickly worn.

Humphrey!

Your Grace
is summoned to a meeting.

At the palace.

A meeting now?

And my consent ne'er
ask'd herein before?

This is close dealing.

Well, I will be there.

My heart assures me
that the Earl of Warwick

shall one day make the
Duke of York a king.

And, my friend,
this I do assure myself,

that Richard shall live to one
day make the Earl of Warwick

the greatest man
in England but the King.

I muse my Lord of
Gloucester is not here.

'Tis not his wont
to be the hindmost man.

Can you not see,
or will ye not observe,

the strangeness of his
altered countenance?

With what a majesty
he bears himself.

How insolent of late
he is become, how proud,

how peremptory,
and unlike himself.

We know the time since
he was mild and affable,

and all the court
admired him for submission.

But meet him now,
be it in the morn,

when everyone will
give the time of day,

he knits his brow
and shows an angry eye,

disdaining duty
that to us belongs.

Humphrey is no little
man in England,

and should you fall,

he as the next will mount.

Me seemeth then it is no policy
respecting what a rancorous mind he bears

that he should come
about your royal person

or be admitted to
Your Highness' council.

The reverent care I bear
unto My Lord made me collect

these dangers in the Duke.

My Lords of Somerset
and Winchester,

reprove my allegation,
if you can,

or else conclude
my words effectual.

Well hath Your Highness
seen into this Duke,

and had I first been
put to speak my mind,

I think I should have
told Your Grace's tale.

Mmm.

The Duchess, by his
subornation, upon my life,

began her devilish practices.

Smooth runs the water
where the brook is deep,

the fox barks not
when he would steal the lamb.

Know, my sovereign,

Gloucester is a man
unsounded yet

and full of deep deceit.

Our kinsman Gloucester
is as innocent

from meaning treason
to our royal person

as is the sucking lamb
or harmless dove.

The Duke is virtuous, mild and
too well given to dream on evil

or to work my downfall.

Seems he a dove?

His feathers are but borrowed,

for he's disposed
as the hateful raven.

Is he a lamb?

His skin is surely lent him,

for he's inclined
as is the ravenous wolf.

Take heed, My Lord,
the welfare of us all

hangs on the cutting short
that fraudful man.

All health unto
my gracious sovereign.

Welcome, Sir William.

What news from France?

That Charles the Dauphin
breaks his forsworn oath

and raises his flag
over every all town.

He is proclaimed King
by every mouth

and all your interest in those
territories is utterly bereft you.

All is lost.

Cold news, My Lord from France,

but God's will be done.

All happiness unto
My Lord the King.

Pardon, my liege, that
I have stayed so long.

Nay, Gloucester, know that
thou art come too soon,

I do arrest thee
of high treason here.

Well, Somerset,
thou shalt not see me blush,

nor change my countenance
for this arrest.

The purest spring
is not so free from mud

as I am clear from treason
to my sovereign.

Who can accuse me?

Wherein am I guilty?

'Tis thought, My Lord, that
you took bribes of France,

and, being Protector,
stayed the soldiers' pay,

by means whereof His
Highness hath lost France.

Is it but thought so?

What are they that think it?

I never robbed the
soldiers of their pay.

So help me God, as I
have watched the night,

ay, night by night, in
studying good for England.

No, many a pound of mine
own proper store,

because I would not tax
the needy commons,

have I dispursed
to the garrisons,

and never asked for restitution.

It serves you well,
My Lord, to say so much.

I say no more than truth,
so help me God!

In your Protectorship, you
did devise strange tortures

for offenders never heard of,

that England was
defamed by tyranny.

Why, 'tis well known
that whiles I was Protector,

pity was all the fault
that was in me,

for I should melt
at an offender's tears.

My Lord, these faults are
easy, quickly answered,

but mightier crimes are
laid unto your charge,

whereof you cannot
easily purge yourself.

I do arrest you in His Highness' name...
Your Majesty.

...and here commit you
to my Lord Cardinal

to keep until your
further time of trial.

Your Majesty?

Oh, uncle Gloucester,
'tis my special hope

that you will clear
yourself from all suspect.

My conscience tells me
he is innocent.

Ah, gracious Lord,
these days are dangerous.

Virtue is choked
with foul ambition.

I know their complot
is to have my life.

And if my death might
make this island happy,

and prove the period
of their tyranny,

I would expend it
with all willingness.

But mine is made the
prologue to their play,

for thousands more that
yet suspect no peril

will not conclude
their plotted tragedy.

Somerset's red eyes
blab his heart's malice.

Thou, Winchester,
that reaches at the moon,

whose overweening arm
I have plucked back,

by false accuse
does level at my life.

And you, my sovereign lady,
with the rest,

causeless have laid
disgraces on my head,

and with your best endeavor
have stirred up

my beloved liege
to be mine enemy.

Ay, all you

have laid your heads together

and all to make away
my blameless life.

I shall not want
false witness to condemn me,

nor stores of treasons
to augment my guilt.

The ancient proverb
will be well effected,

a staff is quickly
found to beat a dog.

My liege, his railing
is intolerable.

He'll wrest the sense
and hold us here all clay.

Cardinal, he is your prisoner.

Take away the Duke.

Ah, thus King Henry
throws away his crutch

before his legs be firm
to bear his body.

Thus is the shepherd
beaten from thy side,

and wolves are gnarling
who will gnaw thee first.

Ah, that my fear were false.
Ah, that it were!

For, good King Henry,
thy decay I fear.

Your Majesty needs
o'erlook this bill.

My Lords, what to your
wisdoms seemeth best,

do or undo,
as if ourself were here.

What, will Your Highness leave?

Ay, Margaret.

My heart is drowned with grief.

Uncle Humphrey,

in thy face I see
the map of honor,

truth and loyalty.

Thou never didst them wrong,
nor no man wrong.

And as the butcher
takes away the calf

and binds the wretch
and beats it when it strains,

bearing it to the bloody
slaughterhouse,

even so remorseless
have they borne him hence.

His fortunes I will weep,

and 'twixt each groan say,

"Who's a traitor?

"Gloucester, he is none."

Henry, My Lord, is cold in great
affairs, too full of foolish pity,

and Gloucester's show
beguiles him.

This Gloucester should be
quickly rid the world,

to rid us of the fear
we have of him.

That he should die
is worthy policy,

but yet we want
a color for his death.

'Tis meet he be condemned
by course of law.

But, in my mind,
that were no policy.

The King will labor still
to save his life,

the commons haply rise
to save his life.

And yet we have
but trivial argument...

...more than mistrust,
that shows him worthy death.

So that, by this,
you would not have him die.

Would not a fool
alone appoint a fox

to guard a chicken
from a hungry kite?

So the chicken
should be sure of death.

Madam, 'tis true.

Let Gloucester die,
in that he is a fox,

by nature proved
an enemy to the flock,

before his chaps be stain'd
with crimson blood.

Let us not stand
debating how to slay him,

be it by gins,
by snares, by subtlety,

sleeping or waking, 'tis no
matter how, so he be dead.

Thrice-noble
Somerset, 'tis bravely spoke.

Not bravely yet.

Say but the word, My Lords.

I'll be his priest.

Here is my hand.

The deed is worthy doing.

And so say I.

And I.

And now we three have spoke it,

it skills not greatly
who impugns our doom.

Farewell, My Lords.

Now, sirs, have you
dispatched this thing?

Ay, my good Lord.
'Tiss done.

Why, that's well said.

Go, get you hence, away, I will
reward you for this venturous deed.

Have you laid fair the body?

Are all things well,

according as I gave directions?

'Tis, my good Lord.

Away, be gone.

Go, call our uncle
to our presence straight.

Say we intend
to try His Grace today.

I'll call him presently,
my noble lord.

My Lords, prepare the trial.

And I pray you proceed no straiter
'gainst our uncle Gloucester

than from true evidence,

of good esteem,

he be approved
in practice culpable.

God forbid any malice
should prevail,

that faultless
may condemn a nobleman.

Pray God he may acquit him
of suspicion.

I thank thee, Meg. These
words content me much.

How now?

Why look'st thou pale?

Why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle?

Dead, My Lord.

Gloucester is dead.

Marry, God forfend!
God's secret judgment.

My Lord?

O, Henry, ope thine eyes!

- How fares my gracious Lord?
- Comfort, my sovereign.

Gracious Henry, comfort.

What, doth my Lord Somerset
comfort me?

Lay not thy hands on me,
forbear, I say!

Thou baleful messenger,
out of my sight!

Good Warwick,

come with me into his chamber
to view his breathless corpse.

O thou that judges all things,

stay my thoughts.

Come hither, gracious sovereign.

As surely as my soul
intends to live,

I do believe that violent hands

were laid upon the life
of this thrice-famed Duke.

Why, Warwick, who would
do the Duke to death?

Myself had him in protection,

charged his safety
with Somerset and Suffolk.

And we, I hope, sir,
are no murderers.

But all of you were vowed
Duke Humphrey's foes.

And 'tis well seen
he found an enemy.

Are you the butcher,
Somerset?

Where's your knife?

I wear no knife
to slaughter sleeping men.

But here's a vengeful sword,

rusted with ease, that shall be
scoured in his rancorous heart

that slanders me
with murder's crimson badge.

Thou, Warwick... Madam,
with reverence may I say,

for every word you speak
in his behalf

is slander
to your royal dignity.

Blunt-witted lord,
ignoble in demeanor!

Thy mother took unto her blameful
bed some stern untutored churl,

and noble stock was graft

with crab-tree slip
whose fruit thou art.

Exeter!

Why, how now, Lords?

Your wrathful weapons
drawn here in our presence?

Dare you be so bold?

Why, what tumultuous
clamor have we here?

The traitorous York set all
upon us, mighty sovereign.

If Somerset and Suffolk
be not done to death,

or banished fair
England's territories,

the people will by violence
tear them from you.

I say, by them
the good Duke Humphrey died.

I say, in them I fear
Your Highness' death.

I thank thee, York,
for thy tender loving care.

For sure, my thoughts
do hourly prophesy mischance

unto my state by these lords.

And therefore,
by His Majesty, I swear,

they shall not breathe infection
in this air but three days longer,

on the pain of death.

Henry, let me plead
for gentle Somerset!

Ungentle Queen,
that callst him gentle!

No more, I say.

If thou dost plead for them, thou
wilt but add increase unto my wrath.

If, after three days' space,

thou two be'st found on any
ground that I am ruler of,

the world shall not
be ransom for thy life.

Wise King!

Banish'd are you both!

I will repeal thee
or, be well assured,

adventure to be banished myself.

I thought thou lovest me.

But I see thee
a puppet of these lords,

pulling down banishment on Somerset
and loyal Suffolk's head.

Thou breakst my heart, My Lord.

My love,
I would not have thee cry.

Then reverse thy doom!

I do, Meg,

I do for thee.

Suffolk and Somerset
remain at liberty

and live thee here in peace.

Suffolk at liberty?

Somerset a free man?

And Gloucester's bloody
trunk accusing there?

False king!

That head of thine
doth not become a crown.

That gold should round
engirt these brows of mine.

Here is a hand
to hold a scepter up.

I am far better born
than is the king,

more like a king, more
kingly in my thoughts.

Give place!

Enough, York.

I cannot in silence
stand to watch thee

thus abuse His Majesty.

We are thy sovereign,
Exeter. Kneel to us.

This is my king, York,
I do not mistake.

But thou mistakes me
much to think I do.

Hold him here at the tower, and chop
away that factious pate of his.

He is a traitor!
Why, Warwick,

hath thy knee forgot to bow?

I have considered with myself the
title of this most renowned duke.

And in my conscience
do repute His Grace,

the rightful heir
to England's royal seat.

Hast thou not sworn
allegiance unto me?

I have.

Canst thou dispense with
heaven for such an act?

It is great sin
to swear unto a sin.

But greater sin
to keep a sinful oath.

Call forth our troops and
bid them arm themselves!

Away, My Lord,
and let us prepare.

We go,

but will return
to wear our crown.

I will stir up in England
some black storm

shall blow ten thousand
souls to heaven or hell.

Cecily!

Cecily!

Boys!

Cecily. Where are they?

In there.

Edward!

George!

Edmund.

And...

Richard!

Richard!

Ripped By mstoll