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

And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
'We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bathed 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!-let our bloody colors wave!—
And either victory, or else a grave.

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.1

Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK.

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe;

For strokes received, and many blows repaid,

Have robbed 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?

1 Shakspeare has here, perhaps, intentionally thrown three different actions into one. The principal action took place on the eve of Palm Sunday, 1461. "This battle (says Carte) decided the fate of the house of Lancaster, overturning in one day an usurpation strengthened by sixtytwo years' continuance, and established Edward on the throne of England."

Enter GEORGE.

* Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 'Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. 'What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?

6

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 Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,1 'Broached with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,

'Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,

• Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death!
'So, underneath the belly of their steeds,

That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

• War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood;

I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

* Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, *Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; * And look upon, as if the tragedy

2

*Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
'I'll never pause again, never stand still,

Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine,

• Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O, Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;

And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.

* And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, *I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!

1 The brother here mentioned is no person in the drama, but a natural son of Salisbury. Holinshed, relating the death of lord Clifford in this action at Ferry-bridge, on the 28th of March, 1461, says, "He was slaine, and with him the bastard of Salisbury, brother to the earl of Warwick, a valiant young gentleman, and of great audacitie."

2 Look upon for look on; i. e. are mere spectators.

'Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands, That to my foes this body must be prey,—

6

• Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!

Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,

Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

6

• Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,

• Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.

I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,

• That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

6

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords,

farewell.

• Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,

And give them leave to fly that will not stay;

And call them pillars, that will stand to us;

6

' And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards

• As victors wear at the Olympian games;

*This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; *For yet is hope of life, and victory.

1

* Fore-slow 1 no longer; make we hence amain.

SCENE IV. The same.

Excursions.

[Exeunt.

Another Part of the Field.

Enter RICHARD and CLIFford.

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone; Suppose this arm is for the duke of York,

• And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,

• Wert thou environed with a brazen wall.

6

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone;

This is the hand that stabbed thy father York;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland ;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,

1 To fore-slow is to delay, to loiter.

"Fore-slow no time; sweet Lancaster, let's march." Marlowe's Edward III.

To execute the like upon thyself.

And so, have at thee.

[They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies.

· Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase ; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field.

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY.

*K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's

war,

* When dying clouds contend with growing light;
*What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
* Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
'Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
'Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind;

6

• Sometime the flood prevails; and then the wind;
Now, one the better; then, another best;
'Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
'Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered;
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
*Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

6

* To whom God will, there be the victory!

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

• Have chid me from the battle; swearing, both,

They prosper best of all when I am thence.

''Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
*O, God! methinks it were a happy life,1

1

1 This speech is exquisitely suited to the character of the king. There are some verses preserved of Henry VI. which are in a strain of the same pensive, moralizing character. The reader may not be displeased to have them here subjoined, that he may compare them with the congenial thoughts the Poet has attributed to him :

"Kingdoms are but cares;

State is devoid of stay;

To be no better than a homely swain; *To sit upon a hill, as I do now, *To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run; * How many make the hour full complete, hours bring about the day,

*

How many * How many days will finish up the year, * How many years a mortal man may live. * When this is known, then to divide the times: *So many hours must I tend my flock; *So many hours must I take my rest; *So many hours must I contemplate; *So many hours must I sport myself;

*

*So many days my ewes have been with young;
*So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

*

*

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, *Passed over to the end they were created,

* Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

* Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! * Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade

* To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

* Than doth a rich, embroidered canopy

To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?

* O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.

*And to conclude,--the shepherd's homely curds,
* His cold, thin drink out of his leather bottle,
* His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
*All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

* Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

*His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

Riches are ready snares,
And hasten to decay.

Pleasure is a privy [game],

Which vice doth still provoke;

Pomp unprompt; and fame a flame;

Power a smouldering smoke.

Who meaneth to remove the rock

Out of his slimy mud,

Shall mire himself, and hardly scape

The swelling of the flood."