The Earl of Warwick's Vow Previous to the Battle of Towton 1797 Henry Tresham
In this rather dramatic image we can Richard Neville cutting the throat of his horse after informing Edward IV of the events of the Battle of Ferrybridge on the 28th March 1461.
Richard Neville looks towards the heavens as he makes his vow. Those who look upon him clearly see him as divine, with his exaggerated arm movements and his nakedness (despite Tresham painting his body grey as if he wears armour) he is truly god's representative on earth.
Henry Tresham's painting is not unlike the work of Henry Fuseli (much of whose work is similar to William Blake's) whose themes are often religious, violent and unclear. In this art work Tresham has chosen to illustrate Warwick's actions from William Shakespeare Henry VI Part Three: Act II. Scene V.
Richard Neville looks towards the heavens as he makes his vow. Those who look upon him clearly see him as divine, with his exaggerated arm movements and his nakedness (despite Tresham painting his body grey as if he wears armour) he is truly god's representative on earth.
Henry Tresham's painting is not unlike the work of Henry Fuseli (much of whose work is similar to William Blake's) whose themes are often religious, violent and unclear. In this art work Tresham has chosen to illustrate Warwick's actions from William Shakespeare Henry VI Part Three: Act II. Scene V.
RICHARD
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
And in the very pangs of death he cried,
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,
'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'
So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost
WARWICK
Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
EDWARD
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,
Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
And in the very pangs of death he cried,
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,
'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'
So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost
WARWICK
Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
EDWARD
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,
Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.
Far too melodramatic for my taste, this tale of Warwick slaughtering his own horse is as untrue as Tresham's image is strange - is it any wonder we get the wrong idea of great characters in history.
RSS Feed
