enter.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine,

Were not revenge sufficient for me!

No, if I digg 'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore

Lifting his hand.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death :-
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!
Clif Such pity as my rapier's point afford.
Rut. I never did thee harm: Why wilt thou slay
me ?

Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is Just,-
He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause ?

Thy father slew my father; therefore die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tua!
[Dies.

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

SCENE IV. The same.
Alarum. Enter York.
York. The army of the queen hath got the field;
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons God knows, what hath bechanced
them :

But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of

ground!

And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !
With this we charg'd again: but, out alas!
We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,,
And spend her strength, with overmatching
A short Alarum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;

waves.

And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury;
And, were 1 strong, I would not shun their fury;
The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northum-
berland, and Soldiers."

Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumber
land,-
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
1 am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my

father.

Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.
York. My ashes, as the Phoenix,may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what, multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no
further;

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And, in thy thought o'errun my former time: And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice,

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not handy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

[Draws.

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thou sand causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life: Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much,

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles. Clif Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now?

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched

arms,

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand-
What! was it you that would be England's king?
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crookback prodigy,
Dicky, your boy, that with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ?
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That variant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;

That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Thou would'st 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 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.

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, visorlike, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv❜d,

Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.

Thy father bears the type 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 admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
"Tis government, that make them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable;
Thou art as opposite to every good,

As the Antipodes are unto us,
Or as the south to the septentrion.

O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How could'st 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;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidd'st thou me rage, why, now thou hast thy
wish:

Wonld'st 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
Frenchwoman.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions move

with blood;

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania.
Sée, 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.
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 slaughterman 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 apon 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, gracions 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.

SCENE I.

Drums.

ACT II.

[Exeunt

A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in
Herefordshire.

Enter Edward and Richard, with
their Forces, marching.

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd;

Or whether he be 'scap'd 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;

Or, had he 'scap'd, 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 resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
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 ;

Or as a bear encompass'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies:
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect
Not separated with the racking clouds,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun,
In this the heaven figures some event.

[san;

Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
you out;

And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of
March,

Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via to London will we march amain;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes!
But never once again turn back, and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War-
wick spoak:

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day
That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
lean;

And when thon fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!
War. No longer earl of March, but duke of
York;

The next degree is, England's royal throne;
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;

And he that throws not up his cap for joy,,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,-
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel,

(As thou hast shown it flinty, by thy deeds,)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums ;--God
Saint George, for us!

Enter a Messenger.

and

town of York.

Yonder's the head of that arch enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear
their wreck ;-

To see this sight, it irks my very soul.-
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Not wittingly have 1 infringed my vow.

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity, must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his, that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on

And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
Did'st yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wing
Which sometime they have us'd with fearful
flight,),

Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,-
What my great grandfather and grandsire got.
My careless father fondly gave away?
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with
him.

K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,-
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did
know,

How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our

foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promis'd 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,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
And, in the towns as they do march along,
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
Clif. I would, your highness would depart the
The queen hath best success, when you are ab

field:

sent.

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!

March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd 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
boy!

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?
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, You that are king, though he do wear the crown,

Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
To blot out me, and put his own son in.
Clif. And reason too;

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. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

Clif Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 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-tongu'd Warwick dare you speak ?

When you and I met at St. Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
thine.

Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valeur, Clifford, drove me thence.

North. No, nor your manhood, that make you stay.

durst

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; But, ere sunset, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue;

I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this

meeting here,

Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
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

(As if a channel should be call'd 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
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus:
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin
stoop;

And, had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day!
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy
pride ?

Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;"
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root:

And though the edge hath something hit our. selves,

Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.
Sound trumpets 1-let our bloody colours

wave!

And either victory, or else a grave.
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.

Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer

stayi

These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [Exeurt.

SCENE III.

A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a racé, I lay me down a little while to breathe: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

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?