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Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Cli fford, and the haught | Northumberland,
And, of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament:
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, of the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen can procure,
Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand,
Why, Pia' to London will we march amain;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry—Charge upon the foe!
But never once again turn back, and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I heard great War-
- wick speak:
Ne'er may he live to see a sun-shine day,
That cries—Retire, when Warwick bids him stay.
Edw. o Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
can ;
And when thou fail'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven foretend
#ar. No longer earl of March, but duke of
- York;
The next degree is, England's royal king:
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along:
And he, that casts not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the offence make forfeit of his head.

King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, 35|And let his manly face, which promiseth

Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel,
{As thou hast shewn it flinty by thy deeds)
I come to pierce it, or to give the mine.
Edit. Then strike up, drums;–God, and Saint
George, for us!
Enter a Messenger.
Hoar. How now what news? [me,
Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
Isar. Why then it sorts’, brave warriors: Let's
away. o [Freunt.

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* Meaning, Why then things are as they should be. mon proverb of “Happy the child whose father went to the devil.” R r 3.

To see this sight, it irks my very soul.- -
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. . .
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity,
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick 2
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.

10|Who'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?

Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious §. did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire; -
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young: -
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
Which sometime they have us'd in fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

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And long hereafter say unto his child,—
“What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
“My careless father fondly gave away :"
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;

Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Henry. Full well hath Clifford play'd the
orator, - -
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell'?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more
For all the rest is held at such a rate, -
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.— [know,

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How it doth grieve me that thy head is here !

2ueen. My o cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, -

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

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Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.—
Edward, kneel down. -
A. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson—Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

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Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince, Enter a Messenger. Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: For, with a band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; And, in the towns as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign' your battle, for they are at hand. Clif. I j." your highness would depart the eld; The queen hath best success when you are absent. Queen. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. - [I'll stay. K. Henry.Why, that's my fortune too: therefore North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prio * royal father, cheer these noble ords, And hearten those that fight in your defence:

Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint

George March. Enter Edward, Clarence, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montagu, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Orbide the mortal fortune of the field 2 Queen. Gorate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. o his king, and he should bow his nee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke: for, as I hear, You—that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. Clif. And reason too; Who should succeed the father, but the son Rich. Art thou there, butcher?—O, I cannot speak! [thee, Clif Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. "Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? Clif Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy'd. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. the crown : Isar. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield oucen. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick; dare you speak? When you and 1 met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands’. Har. "Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis

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Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. har. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. [you stay. North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford there, that cruel child-killer. Clif. Islew thy father; Call'st thou him a child? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed, K. Henry. Have done with words, my lords, . and hear me speak. lips. 2ueen. Defy them then, or elsehold close thy K. Henry. } pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. . . . Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword: By Him that made us all, I am resolv’d',

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Edit. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, - There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 2ueen. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic", Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom'd toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. . Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilto, Whose father bears the title of a king, (Asif a channel should be call'd the sea,) (traught, Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art exTo let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. A wisp of straw" were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callat' know herself— Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee.

thine.

* That is, Range your host. hands.” . * i.e. it is my firm persuasion.

His father revell'd in the heart of France,

* Alluding to the proverb, “One pair of heels is worth two pair of “A stigmatic is said to have been a notorious lewd fellow,

who hath been burnt with a hot iron, or beareth other marks about him as a token of his punishment.

* Gilt is a superficial covering of gold.

* Mr. Steevens comments on this !. thus: Barrett in

his Alvearic, or 2uadruple Dictionary, 1580, interprets the word wispe by peniculus, which signifies any thing to wipe or cleanse with; a cook's linen apron, &c. Pewter is still scoured by a wispe of straw, or hay. Perhaps, Edward means one of these wisps, as the denotement of a menial servant. Barrett adds, that, like a wase, it signifies “a wreath to be laied under the vessel that is borne upon the head, as women use.”. If this be its true sense, the prince may think that such a wisp would better become the head of Margaret, than a crown. Mr. Steevens afterwards adds, that “a wispe was the punishment of a scold.” * Callat, a lewd woman, a drab. And

And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphinstoop;
And, had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sun-shine brew’d a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipt our claim until another age.
Cla. But, when we saw our sun-shine made
thy spring,
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 bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. Ed:v. A. in this resolution, I defy thee;

Not willing any further conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak-
Sound trumpets' let our bloody colours wave'—
And either victory, or else a grave.
2ueen. Stay, Edward.
Edw. No, wrangling woman, I'll no longer
stay: -
Thy words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.
[Ereunt.

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A Field of Battle, near Towton in Yorkshire. Alurum. Eacursions. Enter Warwick. Par. Forspent" with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And, spight of spight, 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. har. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of good? Enter Clarence. Cla. 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? 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, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: And, in the very pangs of death, he cry’d,— Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, “Warwick, revenge! brother,revengemy death!”

i. e. wasted, tired.

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So underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
J/ar. 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
Were play’d 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 clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw, O Warwick, I do bend my fice with
thine;
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.—
And, cre 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!
Besecching thee, if with thy will it stands,
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!—

25 Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,

Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
Rich. Brother, give methy hand:—and, gentle
{...}.
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.
//ar. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords,
farewell.
Cla. 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;
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.—
Fore-slow * no longer, make we hence amain.
[Excunt.

S C E N E IV. Another Part of the Field.

Excursions... Enter Richard, and Clifford. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: §o. this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

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

This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death,

55|And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and bro

To execute the like upon thyself; [ther, And so, have at thee.

[They fight. Warwick enters, Clifford flies.

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other

chace; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

[Ereunt.

SCENE S C E N E V. Another Part of the Field. Alarum, Enter King Henry.

K. Henry. 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, Forc’d by the tide to combat with the wind: Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea Forc’d to retire by fury of the wind: 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 mole-hill will I sit me down. 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. o 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, 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, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the time: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must 1 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 months ere I shall sheer the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Past 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 embroider'd 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, is viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

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Alarum. Enter a Son that had killed his Father. Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. This man, whom hand to hand Islew in fight, May be possessed of some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now, , , May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me.— Who's this?—Oh God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill’d. Oh heavy times, begetting such events : From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, Have by my hands of life bereaved him.— Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did — And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!— My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words, ’till they have flow'd their fill. [times 1 K. Henry. Opiteous spectacle! O bloody Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.— Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg’d with grief". Enter a Faller, bearing his Son. Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;

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But let me see:–Is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son —
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
O, pity, God, this miserable age s—
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
() boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath i. thee of thy life too late *
K. Henry. Woe above woe grief more than
common grief!
O,that my death would stay these rueful deeds!—
Q pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:

50|The one, his purple blood right well resembles;

The other, his pale cheek, methinks, presenteth:

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish

If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. $on. How will my mother, for a father's death,

Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfy'd

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,

Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfy'd

K. Henry. How will the country, for these woeful chances,

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Mis-think 'the king, and not be satisfy'd :

1. The meaning of the king is, that the state of their hearts and eyes shall be like that of the kingdom

in a civil war, all shall be destroyed by a power formed within themselves.

done it b is to thin

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ill, unfavourably.

not bringing thee into being, to make both father and son thus miserable.

*i. e. He should have : To mis-think

Son.

Son. Was ever son, so ru’d a father's death? Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd his son? A. Henry. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe: Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. Son. I’ll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Erit, with the body. Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre; For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious' will thy father be, Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murder'd where I should not kill. [Exit, with the body.

K. Henry. Sad-hearted men, much overgone *

with care, Here sits a king more woeful than you are. 4larums. Excursions. Enter the 2ueen, Prince of Wales, and Ereter. Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: [fled, Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 2ueen. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. Ere. Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after, I'll away before. [Exeter. K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [Freunt.

S C E N E VI.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.

Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it . ave king Henry light. Ah, Lancaster! I fear thine overthrow, More than my body's parting with my soul. My love and fear glew'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts, Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York. The common people swarm like summer flies: And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? And who shines now, but Henry's enemy? Q. Phoebus' hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car had never scorch'd the earth: And, Henry,hadst thousway’d as *† should do, And as thy father, and his father, did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies— I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,

10

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Had left no mourning widows for our deaths,

* Obsequious here implies careful of obsequies, or of funeral rites.

And thou this day had'st kept thy throne inpeace. For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air? And what makesrobbersbold, buttoo muchlenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; And, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth inake me faint:— Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; I stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast. He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, Clarence, Richard, Montague, M'arwick, and Soldiers. w. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause, [looks.— And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen;– That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford flew with them? h'ar. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: For, though before his face I speak the word, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. Clifford groans, and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? arting. Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's deEdw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us’d. . . Rich. Reyoke, that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford: Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root l'rom whence that . did sweetly spring, I mean, our princely father, duke of York. //ar. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: Instead whereof, let his supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. [house, Edw. Bring forth that fatal scritch-ows to our That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death oil. stop his dismal threateningsound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the body forward. J/ar. I think his †i. is berest:— Say,Clifford, dostthou know whospeakstothee?— Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. Rich. Q, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth; 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts As in the time of death he gave our father. Cla. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager’ words. Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. Har: Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. Cla. While we devise fell tortures forthy faults.

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*i. e. Sour, harsh words.

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