And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.— Edward, kneel down. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight: And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right. Prince.My gracious father, by your kingly leave I'll draw it as apparent to the crown; And in that quarrel use it to the death. Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness ; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York: And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king; and many fly to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. Clif. I would your highness would depart the field: The Queen hath best success when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why that's my fortune too: therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheath your sword, good father: cry "Saint George!" A March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee: I was adopted heir by his consent. Since when his oath is broke: for, as I hear Who should succeed the father but the son? Rich. Are you there, butcher?-O, I cannot speak! Clif. Ay, crookback: here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. "T was you that killed young Rutland, was it not? Clif. Ay, and old York; and yet not satisfied. 2 x VOL. III. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, thine. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. "T was not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. North. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently: Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father: call'st thou him a child? Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward; As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland: Q. Mar. Defy them, then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Hen. I pr'y thee give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words: therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword. By Him that made us all, I am resolved That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head: For York in justice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but everything is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands: For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q.Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings. Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king (As if a channel should be called the sea), Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself.- stoop: And had he matched according to his state, That washed his father's fortunes forth of And heaped sedition on his crown at home. Hadst thou been meek our title still had slept, Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy And that thy summer bred us no increase, selves, Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. Edw. No wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. War. Forespent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe: And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running. Edw. Smile, gentle Heaven; or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my lord: what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE. Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair: Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. What counsel give you; whither shall we fly? Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with wings: And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD. Rich. Ah Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk War. Then let the earth be drunken with our I'll kill my horse because I will not fly. Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, Rich. Brother, give me thy hand: and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, So many days my ewes have been with young; Passed over to the end they were created, Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father, dragging in the dead body. Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight May be possessed with some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now. May yet ere night yield both my life and them K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the body in his arms. Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see is this our foeman's face? Ah no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! O pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! K. Hen. Woe above woe; grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! The red rose and the white are on his face, Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied! Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied! K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances, Misthink the King, and not be satisfied! Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death! Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre : I'll bear thee hence: and let them fight that will, Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends And Warwick rages like a chaféd bull. Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Not that I fear to stay, but love to go SCENE VI.-The same. [Exeunt. A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay here it dies, Which while it lasted gave King Henry light. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds: Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. [CLIFFORD groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. Edw. See who it is: and now the battle 's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 't is Clifford : Who, not contented that he lopped the branch spring: I mean our princely father, Duke of York. |