Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us.
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us.
hm
Warwick reaches for Homer to justify a night ambush on a sleeping king. The reference to Ulysses and Diomedes stealing Rhesus' horses is from the 'Doloneia' — the night episode of the Iliad that was considered somewhat disreputable even in antiquity, a story of cunning and stealth rather than heroic single combat. Shakespeare's Warwick chooses it deliberately. He isn't embarrassed by the comparison; he's proud of it. The Kingmaker operates by cunning, and his military genius is largely organizational and political — getting the right people in the right place before the fight — rather than personal valor on a battlefield. The classical reference gives the plan a veneer of literary respectability that barely disguises its essential seediness: they're going to kidnap a sleeping man.
Fear not that, my lord.
Fear not that, my lord.
Fear not that, my lord.
hm
The exchange is blunt: Clarence comes over and gets Warwick's daughter. Warwick says so plainly and publicly, sealing it in front of Somerset and Oxford. This is marriage as alliance, alliance as transaction — the medieval political logic that Edward violated by marrying Elizabeth Woodville for love. The irony is that Clarence is now participating in exactly the system his brother rejected, and he's on the weaker end: he needs Warwick's daughter more than Warwick needs him. Keep watching Clarence: he is the only York brother who doesn't have an obvious through-line of ambition. He switches sides twice in this play, driven by self-interest and resentment. Understanding why makes his eventual fate in Richard III — drowned in a butt of malmsey wine on his own brother's orders — one of the Wars of the Roses' most poignant ironies.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward’s brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests but, in night’s coverture,
Thy brother being carelessly encamped,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;
That, as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus’ tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
So we, well covered with the night’s black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward’s guard,
And seize himself. I say not, slaughter him,
For I intend but only to surprise him.
You that will follow me to this attempt,
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart has pawned an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward’s brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be your. And now what rests but, in night’s coverture, your brother being carelessly encamped, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; That, as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus’ tents, And brought from from there the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well covered with the night’s black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward’s guard, And seize himself. I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart has pawned an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward’s brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be your. And now what rests but, in night’s coverture, your brother being carelessly encamped, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; That, as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus’ tents, And brought from from there the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well covered with the night’s black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward’s guard, And seize himself. I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
war blood death everything is chaos
The Reckoning
This is the flip side of the previous scene's political collapse — the meeting point where all the defectors converge. Warwick accepts Clarence with deliberate warmth (and a daughter as a sweetener), then outlines the night operation with military precision. The tone is that of conspirators who believe they've already won. The irony is that they will win — briefly — before losing everything.
If this happened today…
A disgruntled COO who just quit a startup meets with a rival firm's founder. Two other defectors from the old company show up to the meeting. Someone says 'are we all on the same page?' and everyone nods. Then the founder starts explaining the hostile takeover plan: tonight, while the CEO is asleep at his desk (everyone knows he sleeps at the office), they're going to walk in and grab him. There's a WhatsApp group called 'Henry' that's been quiet for months. They're about to make it very active.