Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

Enter York.

'How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot? "York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;

'But match to match I have encountered him, 'And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 'Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.

Enter Clifford.

'War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chace,

For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it, * As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: In cruelty will I seek out my fame. *Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; [Taking up the body

'As did Æneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; * But then Æneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, fight ing, and Somerset is killed.

Rich. So, lie thou there ;

For, underneath an ale-house' paltry sign,
The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset
Hath made the wizard famous in his death..

1

fight'st.

'As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

[Exit Warwick.

Clif. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?

York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and

*Priest pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, Quee: Margaret, and others, retreating.

*

Enter Young Clifford.

Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;

Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds * Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, *Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part *Hot coals of vengeance !-Let no soldier fly: *He that is truly dedicate to war, *Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself, *Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, *The name of valour.-O, let the vile world end, [Seeing his dead father. * And the premised flames of the last day Knit earth and heaven together! Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, * Particularities and petty sounds

* To cease!-Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve1
The silver livery of advised' age;

And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle ?-Even at this sight,
My heart is turn'd to stone: and, while 'tis
mine,

*It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
No more will I their babes: tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity:

(1) A dreadful wager; a tremendous stake.
(2) Sent before their time.
(3) Stop.
(4) Obtain.
(5) Considerate.

Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!

*K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

* Q. Mar. What are you made of! you'll not fight, nor fly:

* Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, To give the enemy way: and to secure us By what we can, which can no more but fly. [Alarum afar off. If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom Of all our fortunes: but if we haply 'scape (As well we may, if not through your neglect,) We shall to London get; where you are lov'd; *And where this breach, now in our fortunes made May readily be stopp'd,

Enter Young Clifford.

*Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set,

* I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; *But fly you must; uncurable discomfit

Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. *Away, for your relief! and we will live To sce their day, and them our fortune give: * Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Fields near Saint Albans. Alar um: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York, Rich ard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colours.

"York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him; *That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets *Aged contusions and all brush of time;" And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, *Repairs him with occasion? this happy day Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, If Salisbury be lost.

'Rich. My noble father, Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 'Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, Persuaded him from any further act:

But still, where danger was, still there I met him; And like rich hangings in a homely house, *So was his will in his old felt body, *But, noble as he is, look where he comes

Enter Salisbury.

'Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;

By the mass, so did we all.-I thank you, Richard: "God knows, how long it is I have to live;

And it hath pleased him, that three times to-day
'You have defended me from imminent death.
*Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:'
*Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,

Being opposites of such repairing nature."
'York. I know, our safety is to follor them:

'For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
To call a present court of parliament.
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth:-
"What savs lord Warwick? shall we after them?
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can.
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.-
Sound, drums and trumpets ;-and to London all:
And more such days as these to us befall!

[Exeunt.

(2) i. e. Being enemies that are likely so soon to rally and recover themselves from this defeat.