Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallowed in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still. Is ’t meet that he
Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have saved?
Ah, what a shame, ah, what a fault were this!
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our topmast; what of him?
Our slaughtered friends the tackles; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
And Somerset another goodly mast?
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allowed the skilful pilot’s charge?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack.
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark?
Say you can swim: alas, ’tis but a while!
Tread on the sand: why, there you quickly sink;
Bestride the rock: the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish; that’s a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would fly from us,
That there’s no hoped-for mercy with the brothers
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.
Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided
’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
Great lords, wise people never just sit around mourning their losses. Instead, they actively look for ways to fix their problems. So what if the ship's mast is overboard now, the rope is broken, the anchor is lost, and half the crew went down in the sea? Our captain is still alive. Is it right that he should abandon the ship and act like a frightened child, adding more tears to an already flooding ship, making the water even worse than it is, while the ship breaks apart on the rocks, when smart thinking and courage could have saved us? What a shame that would be! Say Warwick was our main support; so what? And Montague was our top support; so what? Our fallen soldiers were our equipment; so what? Why is not Oxford another main support? And Somerset another good captain? Our allies from France are our ropes and rigging? And though I am not military trained, why can't Edward and I take over steering this ship for once? We will not leave the helm and sit crying, instead we will stay our course, even if the rough wind says no, away from the shallow reefs and rocks that threaten to wreck us. It is as silly to yell at the waves as it is to speak sweetly to them. And what is Edward but a cruel sea? What is Clarence but a trap of false promises? And Richard but a jagged deadly stone? Are these not all enemies of our fragile boat? You say you can swim: that only lasts a bit! Step on the sand: you sink down fast. Hold onto the stone: the tide will pull you off, or you will starve to death; that is three ways to die. I tell you this, my lords, so you will understand, if someone here thought about running from us, know that there is no hope of mercy from the brothers more than from the cruel waves, the sand, and the rocks. So have courage! What cannot be avoided it is foolish to cry about or fear.
My lords, smart people don't just sit around crying about what they've lost. They figure out how to fix things. OK so the ship's mast just went overboard, the rope snapped, we lost the anchor, and half the crew drowned. But the captain is still here. Should he abandon ship and cry like a scared kid, pouring his tears into a flooding ocean, making everything worse, while the ship smashes on the rocks? When we could save ourselves by being smart and brave? That would be ridiculous. Warwick was great; fine, he's gone. Montague was great; fine, he's gone. Our soldiers are gone; fine. But Oxford's still here, isn't he? Somerset's still here, isn't he? We've got allies from France. And why shouldn't Edward and I take command for once, even though we're not trained soldiers? We're not running away and giving up. We're staying the course no matter what. We're steering clear of the rocks that could sink us. It's just as pointless to yell at the ocean as it is to be nice to it. Edward is just another dangerous sea. Clarence is just another deadly trap. Richard is just another sharp rock. They're all dangerous to us. You might know how to swim, but eventually you'll drown. You step on sand, you sink. You climb the rock, the tide pulls you down or you starve. That's three ways to die. I'm telling you this so you understand: there's no mercy waiting for us if we run to Edward, Clarence, or Richard. They're just like the waves and rocks. So be brave. Why cry about things you can't control?
don't cry over losses smart ppl fix problems yes warwick's gone montague's gone but we still got oxford somerset france we steer the ship not run no mercy from brothers only death be brave don't cry
Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this as doubting any here;
For did I but suspect a fearful man,
He should have leave to go away betimes,
Lest in our need he might infect another
And make him of the like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as God forbid!
Let him depart before we need his help.
I think a woman with such brave spirit should make any coward who hears these words feel his heart grow braver and stronger. And he would be able to fight an armed soldier with just his bare hands. I say this not because I doubt anyone here; for if I suspected even one coward, he should leave right now before we need him, in case his fear infects the rest of us and makes them afraid too. If anyone here is like that, which God forbid! Let him leave before we need his help.
A woman with this kind of courage should inspire any coward who hears her to grow a backbone and become brave. He'd be able to take on an armed soldier barehanded. I'm not saying this because I don't trust anyone here. But if I spot any coward, I'd tell him to get out right now before we fight, so his fear doesn't spread to the rest of us. If there's anyone like that, God forbid! Let him go before we need you.
that woman's brave any coward listening should feel shame if u r afraid leave now dont infect the rest
Women and children of so high a courage,
And warriors faint! Why, ’twere perpetual shame.
O, brave young Prince, thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou live
To bear his image and renew his glories!
Women and children showing such tremendous courage, and the warriors are afraid! That would be shameful beyond words. Oh brave young prince, your famous grandfather lives again in you. May you live long to carry on his image and restore his great accomplishments!
Women and kids are braver than soldiers? That's the worst shame ever. Young prince, you're just like your grandfather. May you live a long life to match his legacy!
women & kids braver than warriors? shame. prince u r like ur grandfather live long match his legacy
And he that will not fight for such a hope,
Go home to bed and, like the owl by day,
If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.
And anyone who will not fight for such a hope, go home to bed and be like the owl that comes out at night, if he shows up during the day, let him be mocked and stared at.
And if you won't fight for this cause, go home to bed. Act like an owl at daytime— you'll be laughed at and made fun of.
won't fight? go home 2 bed be like owl out in daylight get made fun of
The seafaring metaphor Margaret employs runs for over thirty lines without breaking — an extraordinary feat of sustained rhetorical imagery. She begins with the storm (the lost battle at Barnet), names each lost commander as a piece of broken ship's equipment, repositions the survivors as equivalent replacements, then redefines Edward and his brothers as different types of mortal marine hazard (sea, quicksand, rock). The metaphor finally collapses into direct address: 'there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers.' This is also exactly how Elizabethan rhetoric was supposed to work — extended analogy that builds in detail until the comparison becomes so vivid the listener forgets it's a comparison. Margaret is the play's most consistently eloquent character, which makes her eventual defeat and humiliation in Richard III one of Shakespeare's most extended ironies.
Thanks, gentle Somerset. Sweet Oxford, thanks.
Thank you, kind Somerset. And thank you, Oxford.
Thank you, Somerset. Thank you, Oxford.
thanks somerset & oxford
And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.
And accept the thanks from one who has nothing else to give.
Accept my thanks, even though I have nothing else to offer.
accept my thanks that's all i got
Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand
Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.
Prepare yourselves, lords. Edward is coming close and he is ready to fight. So prepare your minds and courage.
Get ready, lords. Edward's almost here and he's ready for battle. Steel yourselves.
edward's coming ready 2 fight get ready
I thought no less. It is his policy
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.
I suspected nothing less. It is his policy to hurry this fast in order to find us unprepared.
I figured that's what he'd do. He's trying to rush us before we're ready.
figured. he's rushing b4 we ready
But he’s deceived; we are in readiness.
But he is wrong. We are already prepared.
But he's wrong. We're ready.
he's wrong we ready
Edward of Westminster, Prince of Wales, is one of Shakespeare's most touching unrealized characters. He appears only in this play's final acts: brave, eloquent, genuinely royal in bearing, and completely doomed. His response to his mother's speech — the offer to dismiss any coward before the battle — is the kind of move a born leader makes. Oxford says he's the image of his grandfather Henry V. He could have been a great king. He is murdered in the next scene. Shakespeare is not subtle about the waste: the best character on the Lancaster side dies first, and the worst character on the York side (Richard) kills him. The Wars of the Roses has been building to this specific exchange of fates for three plays.
This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.
This makes me feel better, seeing that you all are ready to fight.
It makes me happy to see everyone ready like this.
good 2 see u all ready
Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.
We will make our battle line here. From this spot we will not move.
We'll fight from right here. We're not backing down.
we fight here not budging
Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood
Which by the heaven’s assistance and your strength
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out.
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!
Brave followers, right there is the thorny forest which by God's help and all your strength must have its roots torn out before the night is done. I do not need to urge you to fight harder, for I know you are burning to destroy them. Give the signal to start the battle, and then, lords, let's go!
My brave troops, there's that thorny thicket that we need to clear out tonight by God's help and our strength. I don't need to pump you up, because I know you're ready to burn them down. Sound the signal and let's get to it, lords!
brave troops there's the thicket we gotta rip it up 2night go signal let's fight
Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
My tears gainsay; for every word I speak
Ye see I drink the water of my eye.
Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
Is prisoner to the foe, his state usurped,
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice. Then, in God’s name, lords,
Be valiant and give signal to the fight.
My lords and soldiers and gentlemen, I want to say something, but my tears get in the way. Every word I speak makes me cry more tears into my eyes. So instead I will just say this: Henry, your king, is a prisoner in enemy hands. His power has been stolen. His kingdom is a slaughterhouse. His people are dead. His laws are gone. His money is spent. And that man over there is the wolf causing all this destruction. You are fighting for justice. Then by God's name, my lords, be brave and give the signal to fight.
I want to say so much, my lords, but I can't stop crying. Every word I say just makes me cry harder. So I'll just leave it at this: King Henry is a prisoner. His throne has been taken. His kingdom is a bloodbath. His people are slaughtered. His laws are gone. His treasury is empty. And Edward over there caused all of it. You're fighting for justice. So in God's name, be brave and sound the battle signal.
crying too much 2 speak henry's prisoner throne stolen kingdom's bloodbath fight 4 justice signal go
The Reckoning
Margaret's speech is one of the great pre-battle orations in Shakespeare — more impressive, in its way, than Henry V's Crispin's Day speech, because it comes from a position of clear disadvantage. She has lost Warwick, lost the north, lost everything except her son and the men in front of her. And she refuses to give up. Prince Edward's response makes him the bravest and most articulate York/Lancaster heir in the whole play. Then Edward's forces arrive and the battle begins. The scene ends on the threshold of catastrophe.
If this happened today…
A startup is getting crushed. The co-founder who built the company from nothing gathers the remaining team in a conference room. The lead investor is gone. The CTO quit. The rival just raised a hundred million. And she stands up and says: 'Warwick was our anchor — he's gone. But we are the pilot. I am not leaving the helm to cry. The storm is Edward's army. The sea is Edward himself. Swim, tread, climb: none of those work against this tide. So we fight.' Her son, barely twenty, says: 'Anyone who's afraid can leave now.' Nobody leaves.