No Fear Shakespeare: Henry VI, Part 3: Act 1 Scene 3

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Henry VI, Part 3

William Shakespeare

Original Text

Modern Text

Original Text

Modern Text

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Original Text	Modern Text
Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR.	Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR.
RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? Enter CLIFFORD with SOLDIERS, all wearing the red rose. Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.	RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? Enter CLIFFORD with SOLDIERS, all wearing the red rose. Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.
CLIFFORD Chaplain, away. Thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursèd duke, 5 Whose father slew my father, he shall die.	CLIFFORD Chaplain, away. Thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursèd duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
TUTOR And I, my lord, will bear him company.	TUTOR And I, my lord, will bear him company.
CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him.	CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him.
TUTOR Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. He exits, dragged off by SOLDIERS.	TUTOR Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. He exits, dragged off by SOLDIERS.
CLIFFORD , approaching RUTLAND 10 How now? Is he dead already? Or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I’ll open them.	CLIFFORD , approaching RUTLAND How now? Is he dead already? Or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I’ll open them.
RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o’er his prey; 15 And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword And not with such a cruel threat’ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath. 20 Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.	RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o’er his prey; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword And not with such a cruel threat’ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath. Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.
CLIFFORD In vain thou speak’st, poor boy. My father’s blood Hath stopped the passage where thy words should enter.	CLIFFORD In vain thou speak’st, poor boy. My father’s blood Hath stopped the passage where thy words should enter.
RUTLAND Then let my father’s blood open it again; 25 He is a man and, Clifford, cope with him.	RUTLAND Then let my father’s blood open it again; He is a man and, Clifford, cope with him.
CLIFFORD Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me. No, if I digged up thy forefathers’ graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 30 It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul, And till I root out their accursèd line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 35 Therefore— He raises his rapier.	CLIFFORD Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me. No, if I digged up thy forefathers’ graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul, And till I root out their accursèd line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore— He raises his rapier.
RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me!	RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me!
CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier’s point affords.	CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier’s point affords.
RUTLAND I never did thee harm. Why wilt thou slay me?	RUTLAND I never did thee harm. Why wilt thou slay me?
CLIFFORD 40 Thy father hath.	CLIFFORD Thy father hath.
RUTLAND But ’twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. 45 Ah, let me live in prison all my days, And when I give occasion of offense Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.	RUTLAND But ’twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days, And when I give occasion of offense Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
CLIFFORD No cause? Thy father slew my father; therefore die. He stabs RUTLAND.	CLIFFORD No cause? Thy father slew my father; therefore die. He stabs RUTLAND.
RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! He dies.	RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! He dies.
CLIFFORD 50 Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son’s blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood, Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both. He exits, with SOLDIERS carrying off RUTLAND’S body.	CLIFFORD Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son’s blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood, Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both. He exits, with SOLDIERS carrying off RUTLAND’S body.