To honour me as thy true King and Sovereign:
Neither by treason nor hoftility

To feek to put me down, and reign thy felf.

Tork. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.
War. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.
K, Henry. And long live thou, and these thy forward fons!
York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.

Exe. Accurft be he that feeks to make them foes!

[Tucket,

Here they come down. I'll to my caftle. War. And I'll keep London with my foldiers. Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.

York. Farewel, my gracious Lord,

[Exeunt York, War. Norf. and Mont. K. Henry. And I with grief and forrow to the Court. Enter Queen Margaret, and the Prince of Wales. Exe. Here comes the Queen, whofe looks bewray her anger:

I'll fteal away.

K. Henry. So, Exeter, will I.

[Going.

Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee
K. Henry. Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay.
Q. Mar. Who can be patient in fuch extreams?
Ah wretched man! would I had dy'd a maid,
And never seen thee, never born thee fon,
Seeing thou haft prov'd fo unnatural a father.
Hath he deferv'd to lose his birth-right thus?
Hadft thou but lov'd him half so much as I,
Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood;
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
Rather than made that favage Duke thine heir,
And difinherited thine only fon.

Prince. Father, you cannot difinherit me :

If you be King, why fhould not I fucceed?

K. Henry. Pardon me, Margret; pardon me, fweet fon;

The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me.

Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee? art thou King, and wilt be forc'd?

I fhame to hear thee speak: ab tim'rous wretch!

Thou haft undone thy felf, thy son, and me,

I 2

And

And given unto the houfe of York fuch head,
As thou fhalt reign but by their fufferance.
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it but to make thy fepulchre,
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is Chancellor and the Lord of Calais,
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow feas,
The Duke is made Protector of the realm,
And yet fhalt thou be safe? fuch fafety finds
The trembling lamb, invironed with wolves.
Had I been there, whith am a filly woman,
The foldiers fhould have tofs'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'ft thy life before thine honour.
And feeing thou doft, I here divorce my felf
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of Parliament be repealed,
Whereby my fon is difinherited.

The northern Lords, that have forfworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they fee them spread:
And spread they fhall be, to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the houfe of York.

Thus do I leave thee; come, fon, let's away,
Our army's ready, come, we'll after them.

K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Thou haft fpoke too much already; get thee gone.
K. Henry. Gentle fon Edward, thou wilt stay with me?
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murther'd by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory from the field
I'll fee your Grace; 'till then I'll follow her.

Q. Mar. Come, fon, away, we may not linger thus. [Exeunt 2. Mar. and Prince. K. Henry. Poor Queen, how love to me and to her fon Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Reveng'd may fhe be on that hateful Duke, Whofe haughty fpirit winged with defire Will trufs my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my fon! The lofs of those three Lords torments my heart; I'll write unto them, and intreat them fair;

Come,

Come, coufin, you fhall be the messenger.

Exe. And as I hope fhall reconcile them all. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV,

Changes to Sandal-Caftle in Yorkshire.

Enter Richard Plantagenet, Edward Plantagenet, and
Montague.

Rich. Brother, though I be youngeft, give me leave.
Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter the Duke of York.

York. Why, how now, fons and brother, at a ftrife?
What is your quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No quarrel, but a sweet contention.

York. About what?

Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us, The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not 'till King Henry be dead. Rich. Your right depends not on his life or death. Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving th' house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will out-run you, father, in the end.

York, I took an oath that he should quietly reign. Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken : I'd break a thousand caths to reign one year.

Rich. No;. God forbid your Grace should be forfworn! York. I fhall be, if I claim by open war.

Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me fpeak. York. Thou can'ft not, fon, it is impoffible.

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magiftrate,

That hath authority o'er him that swears.

Henry had none, but did ufurp the place.
Then feeing 'twas he that made you to depofe,
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 whofe circuit is Elyfium

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot reft,

13

Until

Until the white rofe that I wear be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough: I will be King, or die.
Brother, thou shalt to London prefently,

And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.
Thou, Richard, fhalt to th' Duke of Norfolk go,
And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, fhall unto my Lord of Cobham,
With whom the Kentifhmen will willingly rife.
In them I truft; for they are foldiers,
Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more
But that I feek occafion how to rife;

As yet the King not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

Enter Mejenger.

But ftay, what news? why com'ft thou in such poft? Mef. The Queen, with all the northern Earls and Lords, Intends here to besiege you in your castle.

She is hard by with twenty thousand men;

And therefore fortifie your hold, my Lord.

York. Ay, with my fword. What, think'ft thou that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
My brother Montague fhall poft to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobbam, and the rest,
Whom we have left Protectors of the King,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And truft not fimple 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 Montague. Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John and Sir Hugb Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen means to befiege us.

Sir John. She fhall 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? [Amarch afar off.

Edw.

Edw. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in order, And iffue forth and bid them battel ftrait.

York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.

Many a battel have I won in France,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one :
Why should I not now have the like fuccefs?

T

[Alarm. Exeunt,

SCENE V. A Field of Battle.
Enter Rutland and his Tutor.

Rut. Ah, whither fhall I fly to 'fcape their hands?
Ah, Tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.
Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life;
As for the brat of this accurfed Duke,

Whose father flew my father, he shall die.

Tutor, And I, my Lord, will bear him company.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him!

Tutor. Ah! Clifford, murther not this innocent child,
Left thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit with 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 fo he walks infulting o'er his prey, And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder. Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with fuch a cruel threatning look. Sweet Clifford hear me fpeak before I die: I am too mean a subject of thy wrath, Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live!

Clif. In vain thou speak'ft, poor boy: my father's blood Hath ftopt the paffage where thy words should enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open't again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge fufficient for me: No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers graves, And hung their, rotten coffins up in chains,

It