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Home » Quotes » Henry VI Pt 3 » Pardon me, Margaret.—Pardon me, sweet son

Pardon me, Margaret.—Pardon me, sweet son

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!
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it but to make thy sepulcher
And creep into it far before thy time?

And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds
The trembling lamb environèd with wolves.

Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Callice;
Stern Falconbridge commands the Narrow Seas;
The Duke is made Protector of the realm;
And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds
The trembling lamb environèd with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honor.
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of Parliament be repealed
Whereby my son is disinherited.
The northern lords that have forsworn thy colors
Will follow mine if once they see them spread;
And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do I leave thee.—Come, son, let's away.
Our army is ready. Come, we'll after them.
King Henry
Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
Queen Margaret
Thou hast spoke too much already. Get thee gone.
King Henry
Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with  me?
Queen Margaret
Ay, to be murdered by his enemies!
Prince Edward
When I return with victory from  the field,
I'll see your Grace. Till then, I'll follow her.
Queen Margaret
Come, son, away. We may not linger thus.
Queen Margaret and Prince Edward exit.
King Henry
Poor queen! How love to me and to her son
Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Revenged may she be on that hateful duke,
Whose haughty spirit, wingèd with desire,
Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son.
The loss of those three lords torments my heart.
I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.


Act 1
Scene 1
Line 236

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