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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;
А ст II.
Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd,
Had he becn ta’en, we should have heard the news;
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd,
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat:
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That 'we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world,
Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters! – by your leave
I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. see,
Mess. Environed he was with many foes;
Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Edw.Where is the duke of Norfolk,gentle Warwick?
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:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
Bat, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Attend me, lords ! The proud insulting queen,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Why, Via! to London we will march amuin,
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
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard, as steel Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently!--
Edward, kneel down !
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight!
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
[Exeunt. Clif: Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. SCENE JI. — Before York.
Enter a Messenger.
And, in the towns as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our for-
North. Be it with resolution then to fight!
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those, that fight in your
Unsheath your sword, good father! cry
March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,
NORFOLK, Montague, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
And set thy diadem upon my head ?
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
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;
I was adopted heir by his consent:
You— that are king, though he do wear the crown,
To blot out me, and put his own sou in.
Who should sacceed the father, but the son?
Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the
Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now'tis thine,
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward,
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:
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword! What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
Broach'd with the steely point of Chilford's lauce:
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood!
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with Englislı gilt, Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage?
Edw. A wisp ofstraw were worth a thousand crowns, I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand!
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,
And give them leave to fly, that will not stay;
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; For yet is hope of life, and victory. -
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.
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase! Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ;
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. -
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear:
Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the
boily in his arms. Now, one the better, then, another best,
Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. -
But let me see! - is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !
Ah, boy, if any lile be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye! see, see, what showers arise,
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,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! -
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
K. llen. Woe above woe! grief more than common
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!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The one, his purple blood right well resembles ;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
K. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful
Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ?
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.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell:
And so obsequious will thy füther be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
For I have murder'd, where I should not kill.
(Exit, with the body.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen MARGARET,
Prince of Wales, and Exeter.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,