Henry VI

Suffolk
As by your high imperial Majesty
I had in charge at my depart for France,
As procurator to your Excellence,
To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace,
So, in the famous ancient city Tours,
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
The Dukes of Orleance, Calaber, Britaigne, and Alanson,
Seven earls, twelve barons,
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King Henry
Pardon me, Margaret.—Pardon me, sweet son.
The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.
Queen Margaret 
Enforced thee? Art thou king and wilt be forced?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch,
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me,
And giv’n unto the house of York such head
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance!
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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.

Would I were dead, if God’s good will were so,
For what is in this world but grief and woe?

Simile, Anaphora & IsocolonNow sways it this way,
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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:
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
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  Enter at one door a Son that hath killed his Father, carrying the body.
Son
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
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,
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Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
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 you should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
Civil dissension is a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
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Suffolk
Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!
King Henry
What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven’s note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers,
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceivèd sound?
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Richard
Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?
King Henry
AmplificationAy, my good lord—“my lord,” I should say rather.
’Tis sin to flatter; “good” was little better:
“Good Gloucester” and “good devil” were alike,
And both preposterous: therefore, not “good lord.”[/tooltip]
Richard, to Lieutenant
Sirrah,
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Richard
Think’st thou I am an executioner?
King Henry
A persecutor I am sure thou art.
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then, thou art an executioner.
Richard
Thy son I killed for his presumption.

Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope

King Henry
Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume,
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