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York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. of France,

Stabbing hun Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth !

York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious Gou ! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. To triumplı, like an Amazonian trull,

(Dies. Upon their woes whom fortune captivates ?

Q. Mar. Of with his head, and set in on York gates;
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, So York may overlook the town of York. (Exeunt.
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,

А ст II.
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross, in
shameless.

Herefordshire.
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, Drums. Inter EDWARD, and RICHAND, with their
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;

Forces, marching.
Yet not so wealthy, as an English yeoman.

Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd,
Hath that poor mvuarch taught thee to insult? Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.
Unless the adage must be verihed,

Had he becn ta’en, we should have heard the news;
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. Uad he been slain, we should have heard the news ;
'Tis beauty, that doth oft muke women proud; Or, had he 'scap?d, methinks, we should have heard
But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small. The happy tidings of his good escape.
"Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; How fares my brother? why is he so sad ?
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at.

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd,
'Tis government, that makes them seem divine; Where our right valiant father is become.
The want thereof makes thee abominable.

I saw him in the battle range about;
Thou art as opposite to every good,

And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.
As the Antipodes are unto us,

Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
Or as the south to the septentrion.

As doth a lion in a herd of neat:
o, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
And
yet be seen to bear a woman's face?

So far'd our father with his enemies;
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; So fled his enemies my warlike father:
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
Would'st have me weep? 'why, now thou hast thy will: And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, How well resembles it the prime of youth,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins. Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, – Rich. Three glorious sans, each one a perfect sun;
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, - and thee, false French- Not separated with the racking clouds,

But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. As if they vow'd some league inviolable:

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
Would not have touch’d, would not have stain'd with in this the heaven figures some event.
blood:

Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

heard of.
0, ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania.

I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears!

That 'we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
This cloth thou dipp’dst in blood of my sweet boy, Each one already blazing by our meeds,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.

Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

And over-shine the earth, as this the world,
[He gives back the handkerchief. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
And, if thon tellist the heavy story right,

Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters! – by your leave
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,

I speak it,
And : Alas, it was a piteous deed!

You love the breeder better than the male.
say:
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my curse!

Enter a Messenger.
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! -

Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world!

Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on,
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

When as the noble duke of York was slain,
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

Your princely father, and my loving lord.
I should not for my life but weep with him,

Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
To how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. see,

Mess. Environed he was with many foes;
Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum- and stood aguinst them, as the hope of Troy

berland?
Think but ạpon the wrong he did us all,

Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
[Stabbing him. By many hands your father was subdu'd;

Woman.

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But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm

I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:

Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Our soldiers-- like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Laugh'd in his face, and, when with grief he wept, Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain; With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight,
They took his head, and on the gates of York And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
They set the same; and there it doth remain, So that we fled; the king, unto the queen;
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!

For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
O Clifford, boisť'rous Clifford, thou hast slain Making another head to fight again.
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ;

Edw.Where is the duke of Norfolk,gentle Warwick?
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, And when came George from Burgundy of England?
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
Now my soul's palace is become a prison:

And for your brother, - he was lately sent Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, Might in the ground be closed up in rest;

With aid of soldiers to this needful war. For never henceforth shall I joy again,

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike,when valiant Warwick fled:
Never, O never, shall I see more joy!

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mive
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, Cao pluck the diadem frem faint Henry's head,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist;
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. Were he as famous and as bold in war,
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me! - Rich, I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not!
Richard, I bear thy name, PR venge thy death, 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
Or die renowned by attempting it.

Bat, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Numb'ring our Ave-Marias with our beads?
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ?
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. If for the last, say — Ay, and to it, lords!
March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces. War. Why,therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
War. How now, fair lords ? What fare? what news and therefore comes my brother Montague.
abroad?

Attend me, lords ! The proud insulting queen,
Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, And of their feather many more proud birds,
Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told, Have wrought the easy-melting king like was.
The words would add more anguish than the wounds. He swore consent to your succession,
O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain!

His oath enrolled in the parliament;
Edw, O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, And now to London all the crew are gone,
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. May make against the house of Lancaster.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
And now, to add more measure to your woes, Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
I come to tell you things since then befall’n. With all the friends, that thou, brave earl of March,
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Where your brave fáther breathed his latest gasp, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Why, Via! to London we will march amuin,
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
I then in London, kecper of the king,

And once again cry: Charge upon our foes! Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd focks of friends, But never once again turn back, and fly. And very well appointed, as I thought,

Rich. Ay, now,methinks, I hear great Warwick speak March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, Bearing the king in my behalf along:

That cries: Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. For by my scouts I was advertised,

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy showder will I lean. That she was coming with a full intent

And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour! To dash our late decree in parliament,

Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession,

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; Short tale to make, we at St Alban's met, The next degree is, England's royal throne: Our battles join’d, and both sides fiercely fought: For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king, In every borough, as we pass along; Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, And he, that throws not up his cap for joy, That robh'd my soldiers of their ed spleen; Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. Or whether 'twas report of her success;

King Edward, - valiant Richard, - Montague, Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,

Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, Who thunders to his captives-blood and death, But sound the trumpets, and about our taskı

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l'll stay:

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard, as steel Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes
(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)

are nigh,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
Edw. Then strike up, drums! God, and Saint You promis'd knighthood to our forward son;
George for us !

Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently!--
Enter a Messenger.

Edward, kneel down !
War. How now? what news?

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight!
Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, and learn this lesson, Draw thy sword in right.
The queen is coming with a puissant host;

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
And craves your company for speedy counsel. I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors: let's away! And in that quarrel use it to the death.

[Exeunt. Clif: Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. SCENE JI. Before York.

Enter a Messenger.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Mess, Royal commanders, be in readiness!
Wales, Clifford,and NORTHUMBERLAND,with Forces. For, with a bavd of thirty thousand men,
Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
York !

And, in the towns as they do march along,
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,

Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
That sought to be encompass’d with your crown. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ? Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field;
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their The queen hath best success, when you are absent.
wreck;

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our for-
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.-

tune!
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight!
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.

And hearten those, that fight in your

defence:
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

Unsheath your sword, good father! cry
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

Saint George!

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

NORFOLK, Montague, and Soldiers.
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the larking serpent's mortal sting?

Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.

And set thy diadem upon my head ?
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Thou smiling, while he knit his

angry

brows: Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ? He, but a duke, would have his son a king,

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;

I was adopted heir by his consent:
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

You— that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Which argued thee a most unloving father. Have caus’d him, by new act of parliament,
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:

To blot out me, and put his own sou in.
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Clif. And reason too;
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

Who should sacceed the father, but the son?
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings, Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, I cannot speak!
Which sometime they nave us'd with fearful flight,) | Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee,
Make war with him, that climb'd unto their nest,

Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
Offering their own lives in their young's defence? Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! it not?
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, Rich, For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight!
And long hereafter say unto bis child,

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the
What my great-grundfather and grandsire got, crown?
My careless father fondly gave away?

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ?
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy, dare you speak?
And let his manly face, which promiseth

When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, Your legs did better service, than your hands.
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him!

War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now'tis thine,
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the crator, Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
Juferring arguments of mighty force.

War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,

thence,
That things ill got had ever bad success?

North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; –
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; Break off the parle! for scarce I can refrain
And 'would, my father had left me no more! 'The execution of my big-swoln heart
For all the rest is held at such a rate,

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, Clif. I slew thy father: call'st thou him a child ?
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward,
Ah, cousin York'would thy best friends did know, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
How it doth grieve me, that thy head is here! But, ere sca-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.

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K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear

Enter Edward, running. me speak!

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, ungentle death! Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. K. Hen. S pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue ! War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of I am a king, and privileg'd to speak,

good? Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting

Enter George. here,

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair:
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still ! Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword! What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?
By him that made us all, I am resolv’d,

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
That Cliflord's manhood lies upon his tongue. And weak we are, and cannot shan pursuit.
Edw. Say, Ilenry, shall I have my right, or po?

Enter Richann.
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thy-
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. selt?
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head! Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
For York in justice puts his armour on.

Broach'd with the steely point of Chilford's lauce:
Prince. If that beright, which Warwick saysis right, And, in the very pangs of deatlı, he cried, -
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Like to a dismal clangor hear from far,-
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my

death!
For well I wot, thou last thy mother's tongne. So underneath the belly of their steeds,
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; That stain’d their fetlocks in his snioking blood,
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood!
As venom toads, or lizard's dreadful stings. I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with Englislı gilt, Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Whose father bears the title of a king,

Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage?
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) And look npon, as if the tragedy
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ?
To let thy tongue detect tly base-born heart? Here on my knee I vow to God above,

Edw. A wisp ofstraw were worth a thousand crowns, I'll never pause again, never stand still,
To make this shameless callat know herself.- Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Helen of Greece was fairer far, than thou,

Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine. -
By that false woman, as this king by thee. And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold fave,
His father revell’d in the heart of France,

I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop; Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
And, had he match'd according to his state, Beseeching thee, - if with thy will it stands,
He might have kept that glory to this day: That to my foes this body must be prey,
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,

Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, Now, lords, take leave, until we meet again,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand!

and, gentle
For what liath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? Warwick,
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms!
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

1, that did never weep, now melt with woe, Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

That winter should ciit off our spring-time so. Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell! And that thy summer bred us no increase,

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,
We set the axe to thy usurping root:

And give them leave to fly, that will not stay;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, and call them pillars, that will stand to us;
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, As victors wear at the Olympian games :
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. This may plant conrage in their quailing breasts ;

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; For yet is hope of life, and victory. -
Not willing any longer conference,

lore-slow po longer, make we hence amain ! [Exeunt

. Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.Sound trumpets !- let our bloody colours wave! - SCENE IV. The same. Another part of the field

. And either victory, or else a grave!

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. Q. Mar. Stay, Edward !

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay : Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, These words will cost ten thousaud lives to-day. And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,

(Exeunt. Wert thon envirould with a brazen wall. SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York;

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
and Saxton, in Yorkshire.

And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland;
Alarums; Excursions. Enter WARWICK.
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death

, War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and I lay me down a little while to breathe:

brother, For strohes receiv’d, and many blows repaid, To execute the like upon thyself'; llave robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And so, have at thee! And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile.

{They fight. Warwick enters; Clifford flies

1

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase! Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did !
SCENE V. - Another part of the field. And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!.
Alarım. Enter king Henry.

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ;
K. Hlen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill!
When dying clouds contend with growing light; K. llen. ( piteous spectacle! o bloody tinies!
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.

Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. -
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,

Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear:
Forc'd with the tide to combat with the wind; And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief.
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:

Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the
Sometime, the flood prevails, and then the wind,

boily in his arms. Now, one the better, then, another best,

Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :

For I have bought it with an hundred blows. -
So is the equal poise of this fell war.

But let me see! - is this our foeman's face?
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !
To whom God will, there be the victory!

Ah, boy, if any lile be left in thee,
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

Throw up thine eye! see, see, what showers arise,
Hlave chid me from the battle, swearing both,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, They prosper best of all, when I am thience. Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! 'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so : 0, pity, Cod, this miserable age! For what is in this world, but grief and woe? What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 0 God! methinks, it were a happy life,

Erroneous, mutiuous, and unnatural,
'To be no better, than a homely swain;

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! -
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, And hath bereft tlice of thy life too late!
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run:

K. llen. Woe above woe! grief more than common
How many make the hour full complete,

grief! How many hours bring about the day,

O, that my death would stay these ruthless deeds ! llow many days will finish up the year,

O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
How many years a mortal man may live.

The red rose and the white are on his face,
When this is koown, then to divide the times: The fatal colours of our striving houses :
So many hours must I tend my flock;

The one, his purple blood right well resembles ;
So many hours must I take my rest;

The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
So many hours must I contemplate;

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
So many hours must I sport myself;

If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
So many days my ewes have been with young, Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, (Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied !
Pass'd over to the end they were created,

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave,

chances,
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,

Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ?
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

K. Ilen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woc? To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? Much is your sorrow; mini, ten times so much. 0, yes, it doth: a thousand-fold it doth.

Som. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my And to conclude, – the shepherd's homely curds, fill.

[Exit, with the body. His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, Fath. These arms of mine shall bethy winding-sheet; llis wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre; All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell:
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

And so obsequious will thy füther be,
Ilis body couched in a curious bed,

Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his T'ather, I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
dragging in the dead body.

For I have murder'd, where I should not kill.
Son. III blows the wind, that profits nobody. -

(Exit, with the body.
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
May be possessed with some store of crowns: Here sits a king more woeful, than you are.
And I, that haply take them from him now,

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen MARGARET,
May yet, ere night, yield both my life and them

Prince of Wales, and Exeter.
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
Who's this? - O God! it is my father's face, And Warwick rages, like a chased bull:
Whom in this conflict I anwares have kill'd. Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
O heavy times, begetting such events !

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post
From London by the king was I press’d, forth;

amain!
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,

With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,

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