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| Character | Duke of York | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Male | |
| Age Range(s) | Adult (36-50), Senior (>50) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | Angry, Scolding, Descriptive, Mocking, Reminiscing life story/Telling a story | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Period | Renaissance | |
| Genre | Historical, Drama | |
| Description | York responds to Queen Margaret's mockery | |
Summary
In the first scene of the play the Duke of York organizes a revolt against King Henry VI and wins. However, he promises King Henry VI that he will let him rule England until his death. The Duke of York will be his successor. York's sons, Edward and Richard, persuade their father to break his promise and seize the crown before Henry's death. York is persuaded to fight against Henry's army.
York loses the battle and is taken prisoner. Queen Margaret mocks him because he wanted to become the king of England.
In this monologue York responds to Margaret saying that she is evil and reminds her of her father's poverty. He argues Margaret doesn't have the qualities that women should have, that is beauty, virtue and the ability to control themselves. How could she present him an handkerchief with his son's blood? He vows revenge for his son's death.
York loses the battle and is taken prisoner. Queen Margaret mocks him because he wanted to become the king of England.
In this monologue York responds to Margaret saying that she is evil and reminds her of her father's poverty. He argues Margaret doesn't have the qualities that women should have, that is beauty, virtue and the ability to control themselves. How could she present him an handkerchief with his son's blood? He vows revenge for his son's death.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. [NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.] YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! |
Comments
This would be a cool monologue to perform together with the previous monologue when Margaret mocks York.
