Prince. Father, you cannot difinherit me: If you be King, why fhould not I fucceed?

K. Henry. Pardon me, Margret; pardon me, fweet fon;

The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me. Queen. Enforc'd thee? art thou King, and wilt be forc'd?

I fhame to hear thee fpeak; ah, tim'rous wretch!
Thou haft undone thyself, thy fon, and me;
And given unto the Houfe of York fuch head,
As thou shalt reign but by their fufferance.
To entail him and's heirs unto the Crown,
What is it but to make thy Sepulchre,
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is Chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow Seas;
The Duke is made Protector of the Realm;
And yet fhalt thou be fafe?-fuch fafety finds
The trembling lamb, invironed with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a filly woman,
The foldiers should have tofs'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have granted to that Act.
But thou preferr'ft thy life before thine honour:
And, feeing thou doft, I here divorce myself
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed;
Until that Act of Parliament be repealed,
Whereby my fon is difinherited.

The northern lords, that have forfworn thy Colours,
Will follow mine, if once they fee them fpread:
And spread they fhall be, to thy foul difgrace,
And utter ruin of the Houfe of York.

Thus I do leave thee; come, Son, let's away;
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.

K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me fpeak.
Queen. Thou haft fpoke too much already; get

thee gone.

K. Henry. Gentle fon Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

Queen. Ay, to be murther'd by his enemies.Prince. When I return with victory from the field, I'll fee your Grace; till then I'll follow her,

Queen. Come, fon, away; we may not linger thus. [Exeunt Queen and Prince. K. Henry. Poor Queen, how love to me and to

her fon

Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may the be on that hateful Duke,
Whofe haughty fpirit, winged with defire,
2 Will coaft my crown; and, like an empty eagle,
Tire on the flesh of me and of my fon!

The loss of those three lords torments my heart;
I'll write unto them, and intreat them fair;
Come, Coufin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And, as I hope, fhall reconcile them all.

SCENE

IV.

[Exeunt.

Changes to Sandal-Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Rich.

Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague.

BROTHER, though I be youngest, give

me

Edw. No, I can better play the orator.

Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Enter the Duke of York.

York. Why how now, fons and brother, at a ftrife? What is your quarrel? how began it first?

Edw. No quarrel, but a fweet contention.

York. About what?

Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us; The Crown of England, father; which is yours. a Will COST my crown;-] Read COAST, i. e. hover over it. York.

York. Mine, boy? not 'till King Henry be dead. Rich. Your Right depends not on his life or death. Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving th' House of Lancafter leave to breathe, It will out-run you, father, in the end.

York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. Edw. But for a Kingdom any oath may be broken: I'd break a thou fand oaths to reign one year.

Rich. No; God forbid, your Grace should be forfworn.

York. I fhall be, if I claim by open war.

Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.
York. Thou can'ft not, fon; it is impoffible.
Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magiftrate;

That hath authority o'er him, that fwears.
Henry had none; but did ufurp the place.
Then, feeing 'twas he that made you to depofe,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous;
Therefore, to arms: and, father, do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a Crown;
Within whose circuit is Elyfium,

And all that Poets feign of bliss and joy.

Why do we linger thus? I cannot reft,

Until the white Rofe, that I wear, be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

York. Richard, enough: I will be King, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London prefently,

And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.
Thou, Richard, fhalt to th' Duke of Norfolk go,
And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, fhall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentifhmen will willingly rife.
In them I truft; for they are foldiers,
Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of fpirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more
But that I feek occafion how to rife?

And

And yet the King not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the House of Lancaster.

Enter Messenger.

But stay, what news? why com'ft thou in such post? Gab, The Queen, with all the northern Earls and Lords,

Intend here to besiege you in your castle.

She is hard by, with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortifie your Hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my fword. What! think'st

thou that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
My brother Montague fhall poft to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the reft,
Whom we have left Protectors of the King,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And trust not fimple Henry nor his oaths.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not. And thus moft humbly I do take my leave. [Exit Montague.

Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen means to beliege us.

Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

York. What, with five thousand men ?

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's General; what fhould we fear?

[A March afar off.

Edw. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in order, And iffue forth and bid them battle ftrait.

York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, Uncle, of our victory.

Many a battel have I won in France,

When

When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
Why fhould I not now have the like fuccefs?

[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Field of Battle betwixt Sandal-Caftle and Wakefield.

Rut. A

Enter Rutland and his Tutor.

H, whether shall I fly, to fcape their hands?
Ah, Tutor, look, where bloody Clifford

comes,

Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life; As for the Brat of this accurfed Duke,

Whose father flew my father, he fhall die.

Tutor. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce. Tutor. Ah! Clifford, murther not this innocent child, Left thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit, drag'd off. Clif. How now? is he dead already? or, is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up Lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And fo he walks infulting o'er his prey, And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder. Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy fword, And not with fuch a cruel threatning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me fpeak before I die: I am too mean a Subject of thy wrath, Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou speak'ft, poor boy; my father's

blood

Hath stopt the paffage where thy words fhould enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open't again:

He