So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear,
For Warwick was a bug that feared us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company.
So, lie there dead. Your death ends our fear, for Warwick was a threat we all lived in terror of. Now, Montague, be quick about it too; I'm looking for you, that Warwick's bones can have your company in death.
There. Now you're gone. At least our worries die with you— Warwick was the one we all feared. Now I need to find Montague and finish him off, so he can keep you company down there.
dead. no more fear. warwick's gone now find montague
Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows
That I must yield my body to the earth
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch overpeered Jove’s spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind.
These eyes, that now are dimmed with death’s black veil,
Have been as piercing as the midday sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world;
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres,
For who lived King but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me but my body’s length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must.
Who is nearby? Come to me, whether friend or foe, and tell me who won this battle—York or Warwick? Why ask I that? My broken body already shows, my blood, my weakness, my failing heart shows that I must surrender my body to the earth and by my defeat, yield victory to my enemy. Thus the great cedar falls before the axe, whose arms once sheltered the mighty eagle, beneath whose shade the fierce lion would rest, whose highest branch rose above even Jove's great tree, and protected the smaller bushes from winter's harsh winds. These eyes, now dimmed by death's dark shadow, once saw through all secrets of the world, piercingly sharp as the noon sun. The wrinkles in my brow, now filled with blood, were often compared to kingly tombs— for who could be a king unless I allowed it? And who dared smile when Warwick showed anger? Look, now my glory is smeared in dust and blood! My gardens, my hunting grounds, my estates that I once owned, now abandon me. Of all my lands, nothing remains to me except my body's length. What is power, control, kingship but dust and earth? And however we live, we all must die in the end.
Is anybody there? Come closer, friend or enemy, and tell me—did York or Warwick win this? But I already know the answer. My mangled body proves it. My blood, my weakness, my dying heart tells me that I'm done. My body's going back to the ground and victory goes to whoever beat me. I'm like that great cedar falling to the axe— I used to shelter the proudest people, like a lion resting in my shadow, with my height reaching higher than any rival. I protected the weak from winter's cruelest winds. But now my eyes are fading into death, and they used to see everything— sharp as the midday sun. The lines on my forehead used to scare people, reminding them of ancient royal tombs. No king could exist without my approval. No one dared smile if they saw me angry. And now? My glory's turned to dust and blood. All my properties, my lands, everything I owned— they're gone now. I'm left with nothing but the length of my body. What's power anyway? Just dust. We live however we can, but we all die the same.
who's there? warwick lost. body's broken. power's just dust. we all die anyway
Warwick's dying speech is the play's most sustained meditation on what power actually consists of. He begins with the cosmic cedar metaphor — sheltering eagles and lions, towering over Jove's own oak — and then lands brutally on 'my parks, my walks, my manors.' The grandeur collapses into property. The Kingmaker's empire was not an idea; it was land and buildings and the ability to feed six hundred men a day. And all of it is already leaving him as he lies dying. Shakespeare is making a point about the nature of aristocratic power: it was ultimately material, local, personal. The kingdom is an abstraction; the parks are real. When the parks are gone, the kingdom was never yours.
'Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?' is the Wars of the Roses in a sentence. Every character in this play has killed or schemed for something that is, in the end, made of the same stuff as the ground they're dying on.
Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our loss again.
The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power;
Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!
Ah, Warwick, if only you were strong like we are, we might get back everything we've lost. The Queen has brought a powerful force from France. We just got news. If only you could escape!
Warwick, if you could still fight like us, we could turn this around and win it all back. The Queen's coming from France with a real army. We just heard. Wish you could get away!
warwick if u could fight queen's coming from france w army wish u could escape
Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague!
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile.
Thou lov’st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
No, then I would not want to flee. Ah, my brother Montague! If you are somewhere nearby, my dear brother, take my hand and keep my soul alive with your kisses for a moment. You do not truly love me, for if you did, brother, your tears would wash away this frozen blood that seals my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dying.
No, I wouldn't run anyway. Montague! If you're out there, my brother, grab my hand and kiss me—keep me alive a little longer. I know you don't really love me because if you did, your tears would wash off this dried blood that's stuck to my lips and won't let me talk. Hurry, Montague, or I'm done for.
montague grab my hand keep my soul alive a sec kiss me or i'm gone
Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his last,
And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
And said “Commend me to my valiant brother.”
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,
Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,
That mought not be distinguished; but at last
I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
“O farewell, Warwick!”
Ah, Warwick, Montague has breathed his last, and with his dying breath he cried out for you, and said 'Tell my brother Warwick I love him.' He wanted to say more, and he was speaking, but it sounded like a cannon firing in a vault, so I could not make out the words. But finally I could hear, spoken with a dying groan, 'Oh, goodbye, Warwick!'
Warwick, Montague just died. His last words were for you— he said, 'Tell my brother Warwick I love him.' He wanted to say more, but it came out like a cannon shot echoing in a chamber— I couldn't understand most of it. But I made out this dying gasp: 'Goodbye, Warwick.'
montague's dead last words were 4 u 'tell warwick i love him' then 'goodbye warwick'
Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves,
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.
May his soul rest peacefully! Go now, lords, save yourselves, for Warwick says goodbye to you all. I will see you in heaven.
God rest him. Now get out of here, lords. Save yourselves. Warwick's done. I'll see you all in heaven.
run lords warwick's done c u in heaven
Away, away, to meet the Queen’s great power!
Away, away, go quickly to meet the Queen's great army!
Let's get out of here! Go meet up with the Queen's forces!
run go meet queen's army
The Reckoning
Warwick dies alone on the battlefield after Edward leaves him to pursue Montague — which is itself a kind of final insult. His death speech is extraordinary: he catalogs what he's losing not in terms of power or politics but in terms of parks and walks and manors. The grandeur collapses into the personal. 'Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?' And then he asks for his brother, who is already dead.
If this happened today…
The activist investor who brought down two CEOs is found in a hospital corridor after a failed hostile takeover — the deal collapsed at the vote, the SEC is investigating, the partner firm pulled out. His assistant tells him the co-lead is dead. He lies there listing the things he's about to lose: the Hamptons house, the art collection, the family office. He says: 'What is power, in the end, but dust?' And then he closes his eyes.