ACT II.

SCENE I. A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.

Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching.

*Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; * Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,

* From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; * Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; * Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard * The happy tidings of his good escape.'How fares my brother? why is he so sad? Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Where our right valiant father is become. 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:

* Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; *Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, *The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So far'd our father with his enemies; 'So fled his enemies my warlike father; 'Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!"

6

Methought, he bore him-] i. e. he demeaned himself. And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!] Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.

* How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking clouds,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.

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See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.

* Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
heard of.

I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
• Each one already blazing by our meeds,9
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
'Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
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 woful 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.

8 -the racking clouds,] i. e. the clouds in rapid, tumultuary

motion.

9 blazing by our meeds,] Meed here means merit. 10, speak no more!] The generous tenderness of Edward, and savage fortitude of Richard, are well distinguished by their different reception of their father's death. JOHNSON.

H

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. • Mess. Environed he was with many foes; * And stood against them as the hope of Troy' * Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. * But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

* And many strokes, though with a little axe, * Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

By many hands your father was subdu'd;

'But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
"Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:

"Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite; Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept, 'The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 'A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

'Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,

They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; 'Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!— *O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain *The flower of Europe for his chivalry;

* And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee!

Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body 'Might in the ground be closed up in rest: For never henceforth shall I joy again, 'Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

'Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: *Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;

*For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, * Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,

And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.

* To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: *Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for

me!

Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, 'Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with

thee;

"His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with Forces.

War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad?

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should re

count

Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things since then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.

I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,

March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the

queen,

Bearing the king in my behalf along:
For by my scouts I was advértised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,

Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make,-we at Saint Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
• Who thunders to his captives-blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
'Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled; the king, unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle
Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England? ' War. Some six miles off the duke is with the

soldiers: