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I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
Thou rann’st atilt in honor of my love
And stol’st away the ladies’ hearts of France,
I thought King Henry had resembled thee
In courage, courtship, and proportion.
But all his mind is bent to holiness,
To number Ave Maries on his beads.
His champions are the prophets and apostles,
His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,
His study is his tiltyard, and his loves
Are brazen images of canonized saints. (1.3.53–63)
Margaret says these words while conversing with Suffolk, the man who arranged her marriage to the king and with whom she is having an affair. Though she has only recently arrived in England, she is already disappointed with her husband, whom she considers excessively religious. Instead of being a chivalrous knightly type characterized by “courage, courtship, and proportion,” Henry is more like a monk—a religious ascetic who prefers to withdraw for study, contemplation, and prayer. Her frustration with the king mirrors that of York, who refers derisively to Henry’s “bookish rule” (1.1.259).
Ah, what’s more dangerous than this fond affiance?
Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrowed,
For he’s disposèd as the hateful raven.
Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him,
For he’s inclined as is the ravenous wolf.
Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. (3.1.74–81)
Margaret says these words to Henry as she attempts to convince the king of Gloucester’s subterfuge. Her language about false appearances echoes the words of her secret lover and coconspirator, Suffolk, who has likened Gloucester to a brook whose smooth surface conceals unfathomed depths: he “is a man / Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit” (3.1.56–57). Shifting to an idiom based in animal references, Margaret insists that Gloucester is a proverbial wolf in lamb’s clothing. Of course, the irony is that Margaret and Suffolk are the ones who are truly “fraudful,” and who thus endanger “the welfare of us all.”
Away, my lord! You are slow. For shame, away!
. . .
What are you made of? You’ll nor fight nor fly.
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defense
To give the enemy way, and to secure us
By what we can, which can no more but fly. (5.4.1, 3–6)
When Margaret learns of Suffolk’s death in act 4, she enters a state of mourning that causes her to recede into the background. Her withdrawal allows the chaos stirred up by Jack Cade to take center stage. With all the pandemonium, it is easy to lose sight of Margaret’s ongoing threat to the Crown. However, when she reappears in the play’s final scene, she powerfully reasserts herself. The lines quoted above are addressed to Henry, whom she commands to flee the scene of battle and return to his court in London. Her words are forceful and emasculating, signaling that she is back to her old, controlling self. This is part of the last speech Margaret gives in the play, but it certainly isn’t the last we’ll hear from her.
