Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
Thou ftern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidft thou me rage? why, now thou haft thy wish.
Would't have me weep? why, now thou haft thy will.
For raging wind blows up inceffant show'rs,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my fweet Rutland's obfequies;
And ev'ry drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainft thee, fell Clifford; and thee, falfe French

woman.

North. Befhrew me, but his paffions move me fo
That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry Canibals
Would not have touch'd, ' would not have ftain'd with
blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
Oh ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dip'dft in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wafh the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
And if thou tell'it the heavy ftory right,
Upon my foul, the hearers will fhed tears,
Yea, even my foes will shed faft-falling tears,
Alas, it was a piteous deed!

And fay,

5

66

Would not have fain'd the roses juft WITH BLOOD:] So the fecond folio nonfenfically reads the paffage; but the old quarto, and first folio editions of better authority have it thus,

That face of his the hungry canibals

Would not have touch'd, would not have ftain'd with blood. And this is fenfe. Could any one now have believed that an editor of common understanding fhould reject this, and faften upon the nonfenfe of a latter edition only because it afforded matter for conjecture: And yet Mr. Theobald will needs correct, roses juft with blood, to rofes juic'd with blood, that is, change one blundering Editor's nonfenfe for another's. But if there ever was any mean, ing in the line, it was thus expreffed,

Would not have fain'd the rofes juft in bud.
And this the Oxford Editor hath efpoufed.
VOL. V.

K

There

There, take the crown; and, with the crown my curfe.
And in thy need fuch comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world,
My foul to heav'n, my blood upon your heads.
North. Had he been flaughter-man to all
I fhould not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly forrow gripes his foul.

my kin,

Queen. 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. Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King. York. Open the gate of mercy, gracious God! My foul flies through thefe wounds, to feek out thee.

[Dies.

Queen. Off with his head and fet it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales.

A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their Power.

EDWARD.

I Wonder, how our princely father 'cap'd;

Or whether he be 'fcap'd away, or no,

From Clifford's and Northumberland's purfuit?
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been flain, we should have heard the news;
Or had he 'scap'd, methinks, we fhould have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.

How fares my brother? why is he fo fad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be refolv'd
Where our right-valiant father is become.
I faw him in the battle range about;

And watch'd him, how he fingled 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 reft ftand all aloof and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies,
So fled his enemies my warlike father:
'Methinks, 'tis pride enough to be his fon.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewel of the glorious fun;
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trim'd like a yonker prancing to his love?
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I fee three funs?
Rich. Three glorious funs, each one a perfect fun;"
Not feparated with the racking clouds,

But fever'd in a pale clear-fhining sky.

See, fee, they join, embrace, and feem to kifs;
As if they vow'd fome league inviolable:

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one fun.
In this the heaven figures fome event.

Edw. 'Tis wondrous ftrange, the like yet never heard of.

I think, it cites us, brother to the field;
That we the fons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-fhine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair fhining funs.

1 Methinks, 'tis PRIZE enough to be his fon.] The old quarto reads PRIDE, which is right, for ambition. i. e. We need not aim at any higher glory than this.

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters: -by your leave, I speak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a Meffenger.

But what art thou, whofe heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mef. Ah! one that was a woful looker on,
When as the noble Duke of York was flain;
Your princely father, and my loving lord.

Edw. Oh, fpeak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich. Say, how he dy'd; for I will hear it all.
Mef. Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have entred Troy.
But Hercules himself muft yield to odds;
And many ftroaks, though with a little ax,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was fubdu'd,
But only flaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen;
Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high defpight;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless Queen gave him, to dry his cheek,
A napkin fteeped in the harmless blood

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford flain:
And, after many fcorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They fet the fame; and there it doth remain
The faddeft fpectacle that e'er I view’d.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon!
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
Oh Clifford, boift'rous Clifford! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry,
And treacherously haft thou vanquish'd him;

For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee.

Now

Now my foul's palace is become a prison :

Ah, would fhe break from hence, that this my body
Might in the ground be clofed up in reft!
For never henceforth fhall I joy again,
Never, oh never, fhall I fee more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce ferves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen:
For felf-fame wind, that I fhould speak withal,
Is kindling coals that fire up all my breaft;

And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.
Το weep, is to make lefs the depth of grief:
Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death;
Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee:

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely Eagle's bird, Shew thy defcent, by gazing 'gainst the fun : For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom fay; Either that's thine, or else thou wert not his.

SCENE II.

March. Enter Warwick, Marquifs of Montague, and their army.

War. How now, fair Lords? what fare? what news abroad?

Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should

recount

Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told ;

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant Lord, the Duke of York is flain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! That Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly as his foul's redenption,

K 3