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And this soft courage makes your followers faint. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the You promised knighthood to our forward son :
fight. Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield Edward, kneel down.
the crown? K. Hen, Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight : Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued WarAnd learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right.
wick! dare you speak? Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave | When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown;
Your legs did better service than your hands. And in that quarrel use it to the death.
War. Then 't was my turn to fly, and now 't is Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. Enter a Messenger.
War. 'T was not your valour, Clifford, drove Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness ;
me thence. For with a band of thirty thousand men
North. No, nor your manhood that durst make Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York:
you stay. And in the towns, as they do march along, Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently: Proclaims him king; and many fly to him. Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. The execution of my big-swoln heart Clif. I would your highness would depart the | Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. field:
Clif. I slew thy father: call'st thou him a The Queen hath best success when you are absent.
child ? Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous our fortune.
coward; K. Hen. Why that's my fortune too: there- | As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland : fore I'll stay.
But ere sunset I 'll make thee curse the deed. North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
hear me speak. And hearten those that fight in your defence. Q. Mar. Defy them, then, or else hold close Unsheath your sword, good father : cry “Saint
thy lips. George!"
K. Hen. I pr'y thee give no limits to my tongue:
I am a king, and privileged to speak. A March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, Richard,
Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this Warwick, Norfolk, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers.
meeting here Edw. Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel Cannot be cured by words: therefore be still. for grace,
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword. And set thy diadem upon my head;
By Him that made us all, I am resolved Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no? boy!
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. Before thy sovereign and thy lawful King ?
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head : Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee: For York in justice puts his armour on. I was adopted heir by his consent.
Prince. If that be right which Warwick says Since when his oath is broke: for, as I hear
is right, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, | There is no wrong, but everything is right. Have caused him, by new act of parliament,
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands: To blot out me, and put his own son in.
For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue. Clif. And reason too:
Q.Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam Who should succeed the father but the son ? But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Rich. Are you there, butcher ?–0, I cannot Marked by the destinies to be avoided, speak!
As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings. Clif. Ay, crookback : here I stand to answer Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, thee,
Whose father bears the title of a king Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
(As if a channel should be called the sea), Nich. 'T was you that killed young Rutland, Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art was it not?
extraught, Clif. Ay, and old York; and yet not satisfied. To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? VOL. III.
Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand
Enter EDWARD, running. crowns,
Edw. Smile, gentle Heaven; or strike, unTo make this shameless callet know herself.
gentle death! Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. Although thy husband may be Menelaus :
War. How now, my lord: what hap? what And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wronged
hope of good ? By that false woman as this King by thee.
Enter George. His father revelled in the heart of Franca, And tamed the king and made the dauphin Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair: stoop:
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. And had he matched according to his state,
What counsel give you; whither shall we fly? He might have kept that glory to this day.
Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with But when he took a beggar to his bed,
wings: And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for
Enter Richard. him That washed his father's fortunes forth of
Rich. Ah Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn France,
thyself? And heaped sedition on his crown at home.
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk For what hath broached this tumult but thy
Broached with the steely point of Clifford's lance: pride?
And in the very pangs of death he cried, Iladst thou been meek our title still had slept,
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, And we, in pity of the gentle King,
“Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!" llad slipped our claim until another age.
So underneath the belly of their steeds, Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy'
That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood, spring,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. And that thy summer bred us no increase,
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our We set the axe to thy usurping root:
blood : And though the edge hath something hit our- | I'll kill my horse because I will not fly. selves,
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; We 'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, And look upon, as if the tragedy Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors ? Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee:
Here on my knee I vow to God above, Not willing any longer conference,
I 'll never pause again, never stand still, Since thou deny'st the gentle King to speak.
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Sound trumpets: let our bloody colours wave :
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. And either victory or else a grave!
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine: Edw. No wrangling woman; we'll no longer
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. Thou netter-up and plucker-down of kings!
Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul !
Now, lords, take leave, until we meet again, and Saxton, in Yorkshire.
Where'er it be, in heaven or on earth.
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand: and, gentle Alarums : Excursions. Enter WARWICK.
Warwick, War. Forespent with toil, as runners with a s Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. race,
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe I lay me down a little while to breathe :
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. For strokes received, and many blows repaid, War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, llave robbed my strong-knit sinews of their
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars that will stand to us; | And here's the heart that triumphs in their death,
And so have at thee.
Exeunt. | Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other
chase ; | For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.
Scene IV.— The same. Another part of the Field.
Scene V.-Another Part of the Field,
Alarum. Enter Kino Henry.
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; i May yet ere night yield both my life and them Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea, To some man else, as this dead man doth me.Forced to retire by fury of the wind :
Who's this?-0 God! it is my father's face, Sometime the flood prevails; and then the wind : Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed. Now one the better ; then another best :
O heavy times, begetting such events! Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, From London by the King was I pressed forth: Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Came on the part of York, pressed by his master : Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
And I, who at his hands received my life, To whom God will, there be the victory :
Have by my hands of life bereavéd him. For Margaret my Queen, and Clifford too, Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! Have chid me from the battle; swearing both And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! They prosper best of all when I am thence. My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; 'Would I were dead, if God's good will were so : And no more words till they have flowed their For what is in this world but grief and woe?
fill. O God! methinks it were a happy life
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! To be no better than a homely swain;
Whilst lions war and battle for their dens, To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Weep, wretched man, I 'll aid thee tear for tear; Thereby to see the minutes how they run: And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, How many make the hour full complete, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with How many hours bring about the day,
grief. How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the When this is known, then to divide the times :
body in his arms. So many hours must I tend my flock;
Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, So many hours must I take my rest;
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; So many hours must I contemplate;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. So many hours must I sport myself;
But let me see: is this our foeman's face? So many days my ewes have been with young; Ah no, no, no, it is mine only son! So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; Ah boy, if any life be left in thee, So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, years,
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! Passed over to the end they were created, O pity, God, this miserable age! Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Ah what a life were this! how sweet, how lovely! Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ? K. Hen. Woe above woe; grief more tha. O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth,
common grief! And to conclude,--the shepherd's homely curds, O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, O pity, pity, gentle Heaven, pity! His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade The red rose and the white are on his face, (All which secure and sweetly he enjoys), The fatal colours of our striving houses : Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
The one his purple blood right well resembles ; His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, present : His body couchéd in a curious bed,
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied! dragging in the dead body.
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied! This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight | K. Hen. How will the country, for these May be possessed with some store of crowns :
woful chances, And I, that haply take them from him now. Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!
Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death! | Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
And who shines now but Henry's enemies ? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. o Phæbus! hadst thou never given consent Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, my fill.
[Exit with the body. | Thy burning car never had scorched the earth : Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind And Henry, hadst thou swayed as kings should do, ing-sheet;
Or as thy father and his father did, My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre: Giving no ground unto the house of York, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. They never then had sprung like summer flies; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell: I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, And so obsequious will thy father be,
Had left no mourning widows for our death; Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? I'll bear thee hence: and let them fight that will, And what makes robbers bold but too much For I have murdered where I should not kill.
lenity? [Exit with the body. | Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds: K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: with care,
The foe is merciless, and will not pity; Here sits a king more woful than you are. For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen MARGARET, | And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Prince of Wales, and Exeter.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick, and the rest : Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends I stabbed your fathers' bosoms, split my breast are fled,
[He faints. And Warwick rages like a chaféd bull. Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. post amain :
Edw. Now breathe we, lords: good fortune Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
bids us pause, Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen; And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. As doth a sail, filled with a fretting gust, Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with Command an argosy to stem the waves. them.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed;
War. No, 't is impossible he should escape : Or else come after; I 'll away before.
For, though before his face I speak the words, K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Your brother Richard marked him for the grave: Exeter:
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
[CLIFFORD groans and dies. Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her
heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's
Edw. See who it is: and now the battle 's Scene VI.-The same.
If friend or foe, let him be gently used. A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 't is Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay here it
Clifford : dies,
Who, not contented that he lopped the branch Which while it lasted gave King Henry light. In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow
But set his murdering knife unto the root More than my body's parting with my soul. From whence that tender spray did sweetly My love and fear glewed many friends to thee;
spring : And now I fall thy tough commixtures melt, I mean our princely father, Duke of York.