That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war 'Against his brother, and his lawful king? * Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath: *To keep that oath, were more impiety * Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter. * I am so sorry for my trespass made, * That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike. War. O passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town, and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? 'War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: I will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way : Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory. 7 [March. Exeunt. 6 so blunt,] Stupid, insensible of paternal fondness. passing traitor,] Eminent, egregious; traitorous beyond the common track of treason. SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King EDWARd, bringing in WARWICK wounded. *K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; * For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all."— Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, *That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. War. Ah, who is nigh! come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, * My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, *And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind, * These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, * Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? 8 being. a bug, that fear'd us all.] Bug is a bugbear, a terrifick My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Enter OXFORD and SOMErset. *Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, *We might recover all our loss again! The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; "Even now we heard the news: Ah, could'st thou fly! War. Why, then I would not fly.-Ah, Mon tague, * If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, * And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! * Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, *Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, * That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. *Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last; 'And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, ' And said-Commend me to my valiant brother. • And more he would have said; and more he spoke, • Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,' • That might not be distinguish'd; but, at last, 'I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, 9 My parks, &c.] This mention of his parks and manors diminishes the pathetic effect of the foregoing lines. 1 Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,] Mr. Steevens thinks clamour, which is in the old play, the proper word, and adds, "The indistinct gabble of undertakers, while they adjust a coffin in a family vault, will abundantly illustrate the preceding simile. Such a peculiar hubbub of inarticulate sounds might have attracted our author's notice: it has too often forced itself on mine." 'O, farewell, Warwick! War. Sweet rest to his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [Dies. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! [Exeunt, bearing off WARWICK'S Body. SCENE III. Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD in triumph; with CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and the rest. 'K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, 'And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. I mean, my lords,-those powers, that the queen 'Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. * Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, *And blow it to the source from whence it came: * Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; * For every cloud engenders not a storm. * Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, 'And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; 'If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. K. Edw. We are advértis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; 'We having now the best at Barnet field, • Will thither straight, For willingness rids way; 'And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum; cry-Courage! and away. SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. [Exeunt. March. Enter Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers. * Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, * But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. "What though the mast be now blown over-board, 'The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 6 And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 'Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet, that he 'Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, * With tearful eyes add water to the sea, *And give more strength to that which hath too much; * Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, * Which industry and courage might have sav'd? * Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! 'Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that? 'And Montague our top-mast; What of him? 'Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; What of these? 'Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? 'And Somerset another goodly mast? "The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 'We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; * But keep our course, though the rough wind say— no, |