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What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, 'That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?

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'Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be

mad;

"And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York !—and, lords, bow low to him.—
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.—

[ putting a paper crown on his head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-
But how is it, that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale 1 your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,

Now in his life, against your holy oath?

O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !

Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his

head;

And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him

dead.

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.

Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

Impale, encircle.

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves

of France,

'Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,

To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,

Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
shameless.

Thy father bears the type 1 of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;

Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verified,-
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admired;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government, that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable.
Thou art as opposite to every good,

As the Antipodes are unto us,

1 The distinguishing mark.

A well-regulated mind.

Or as the south to the septentrion.1

O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;

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'Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

'Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy

wish :

'Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:

For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; 'And every drop cries vengeance for his death,''Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false French

woman.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions 2 move

me so,

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,—
O, ten times more,—than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.

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Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

[he gives back the handkerchief.

And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, Alas, it was a piteous deed!'

There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my

curse;

And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
'I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland ?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's

death.

[stabbing him.

Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted

king.

[stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out

thee.

[dies.

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York

gates;

So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

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ACT II.

SCENE I.

A plain near Mortimer's Cross, in Herefordshire. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD, with their forces, marching.

Drums.

"Ed. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped; "Or whether he be 'scaped away, or no,

"From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. "Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the

news;

Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;

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Or, had he 'scaped, methinks, we should have

heard

"The happy tidings of his. good escape.
'How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved

Where our right valiant father is become.

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I saw him in the battle range about;

And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,

As doth a lion in a herd of neat ; 1

"Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;

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Who, having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, "The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.

'Black cattle.

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