Pool! Sir Pool! Lord! Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks; Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth For swallowing the treasure of the realm. Thy lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground; And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s death Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again. And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart. By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, The false revolting Normans thorough thee Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles all, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, As hating thee are rising up in arms. And now the house of York, thrust from the crown By shameful murder of a guiltless king And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny, Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, Under the which is writ “_Invitis nubibus_.” The commons here in Kent are up in arms; And, to conclude, reproach and beggary Is crept into the palace of our King, And all by thee.—Away! Convey him hence.

Lieutenant Monologue from Henry VI

Rehearse Lieutenant's monologue