But little thinks we shall be of her council:
By words, or blows, here let us win our right.
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this
house.

War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king; And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right.

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, [best, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares :Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. (Warwick leads York to the throne, who seats himself.)

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel Even in the chair of state! belike, he means, [sits, (Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king.Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge

:

On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. North. If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on me! Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. [him down: West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it.

K.Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he : He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York.

North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? Exe. But, when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. [heart, K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, Shall be the war that Henry means to use.(They advance to the Duke.) Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. Exe. For shame, come down; he made thee duke of York.

I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger,
As shall revenge his death, before I stir.

War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

York. Will you, we shew our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

K.Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth,

Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I; When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose :

tear the crown from the usurper's head. Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. Mont. Good brother, (to York) as thou lov'st and honour'st arms,

Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king York. Sons, peace! [will fly. K. Hen. Peace thou! and give king Henry leave to speak.

War. Plantagenet shall speak first :-hear him,
And be you silent and attentive too, [lords;
For he that interrupts him shall not live.
K. Hen. Think'st thou that I will leave my
kingly throne,

Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
Ay, and their colours-often borne in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow,
Shall be my winding-sheet.-Why faint you, lords?
My title's good, and better far than his.
War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be
king.
[crown.
K. Hen. Henry the Fourth, by conquest got
the
York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?
[weak.
York. What then?

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king: For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth; Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce.

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown, But that the next heir should succeed and reign. K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer

not?

York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium, And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent.— You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise; And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

Enter a Messenger.

But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such
post?
[and lords,
Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls
Intend here to besiege you in your castle :
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou

that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;-
My brother Montague shall post to London:
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit. Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; [uncles! The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

York. What, with five thousand men ? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's general; What should we fear? (A march afar off.) Edw. I hear their drams; let's set our men in order;

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty-though the odds
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [be great,
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
Why should I not now have the like success?
[Alarum. Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle.
Alarums. Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and his
Tutor.

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers.

Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear,
That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open them.

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.-
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Chf. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa-
ther's blood
[enter.
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should
Rut. Then let any father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Cliy. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and Were not revenge sufficient for me! [thine, No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line, And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore(Lifting his hand.)

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou Clif. Thy father hath. [slay me? Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me; Lest in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. Clif. No cause?

Thy father slew my father; therefore die. (Clifford stabs him.) Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ!

(Dies.)

[life.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away with him. Tut. Ab, Clifford! murder not this innocent child,

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same.

Alarum. Enter YORK.

York. The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. My sons-God knows what hath bechanced them : But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown, by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me; And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it out! And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him : And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of ground! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb! With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas! We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching waves. (A short alarum within.) Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd, that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter Queen MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHumBERLAND, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,—
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as this ruthless arm,
With downright payment, shew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird, that will revenge upon you all:
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no fur-
ther;

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,

Whose frown bath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

(Draws.)

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand

causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life:Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. [much,

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

(They lay hands on York, who struggles.) Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. (York is taken prisoner.) York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now? [berland,

Q.Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford, and NorthumCome, make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.What! was it yon, that would be England's king? Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky, your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point
Made issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.-
A crown for York ;-and, lords, bow low to him.

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.-
(Putting a paper crown on his head.)
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-
But how is it, that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault, too too unpardonable!—
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.

Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he
makes.
[of France,
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
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,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
shameless.

Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verified,-
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small:
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government, that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,
Or as the south to the septentrion.
O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish :
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy
will:

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,-
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false French-

woman.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
(He gives back the handkerchief.)
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!-
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my curse;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!—