Enter York.

How now, my Lord? what, all a-foot?

York. The deadly-handed Clifford flew my steed; But match to match I have encountred him, And made a prey for carrion kites and crows Ev'n of the bonny beast he lov'd fo well.

Enter Clifford.

War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, feek thee out fome other chace,

For I myself muft hunt this deer to death.

War. Then nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, [fight'ft. It grieves my foul to leave thee unaffail'd.

[Exit Warwick. Clif. What feeft thou in me, York? why dost thou paufe?

York. With thy brave bearing fhould I be in love, But that thou art fo faft mine enemy.

Clif. Nor fhould thy prowess want praise and esteem,

But that 'tis fhown ignobly, and in treason.
York. So let it help me now against thy fword,
As I in juftice and true right exprefs it.

Clif. My foul and body on the action both!-
York. A dreadful lay. Addrefs thee instantly.

Clif. La fin courrone des œuvres.

[Fight. [Dies

York. Thus war hath giv'n thee peace, for thou

art ftill;

Peace with his foul, Heav'n, if it be thy will! [Exit. Enter young Clifford.

r. Clif. Shame and confufion! all is on the rout; Fear frames diforder; and disorder wounds, Where it should guard. O war! thou fon of hell, Whom angry Heav'ns do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bofoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance. Let no foldier fly. He that is truly dedicate to war,

Hath no felf-love; for he that loves himself
Hath not effentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.-O let the vile world end,
[Seeing his dead father.
And the premifed flames of the last day
Knit earth and heav'n together:

Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and petty founds

To ceafe! Waft thou ordained, O dear father,
To lofe thy youth in peace, and to atchieve
The filver livery of advifed age;

And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle? Even at this fight
My heart is turn'd to ftone; and while is mine, .
It fhall be ftony. York not our old men fpares;
No more will their babes; tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity.
Meet I an infant of the house of York,
Into as many gobbits will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Abfyrtus did.
In cruelty will I feek out my fame.

Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:
As did Æneas old Anchifes bear,

So I bear thee upon my manly fhoulders;
But then Eneas bare a living load,

Nothing fo heavy as thefe woes of mine.

[Exit bearing off his father. Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, to fight. R. Plan. So, ly thou there. [Somerset is killeds For underneath an ale-house' paltry fign,

The caftle in St Albans, Somerset

Hath made the wizard* famous in his death. Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful ftill:*

.

The death of Somerfet here accomplishes that equivocal prediction given by Jordan the witch, concerning this Duke, which we met with at the clofe of the first act of this play:

Fight. Excurfions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others.

Q. Mar. Away, my Lord, you are flow; for fhame, away.

K. Henry. Can we out-run the heav'ns? Good Margret, ftay.

Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight, nor fly.

Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,

To give the enemy way, and to fecure us
By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarm afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then fhall fee the bottom
Of all our fortunes; but if we haply 'fcape,
As well we may, if not through your neglect,
We fhall to London get, where you are lov'd,
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
May readily be stop'd.

Enter Clifford.

Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
I would speak blafphemy, ere bid you fly,
But fly you muft; incurable difcomfit

Reigns in the hearts of all our prefent parts.
Away, for your relief; and we will live

To fee their day, and them our fortune give.
Away, my Lord, away!
[Exeunt.

Alarm. Retreat. Enter York, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colours.

York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him?

Let him fhun cafiles;

Safer fhall he be upon the fandy plains,
Than where caftles, mounted, stand.

ie. the representation of a castle, mounted for a fign.

Theobald

That winter lion, who in rage forgets
Aged contufions and all brush of time;
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
Repairs him with occafion. This happy day
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
If Salisbury be loft.

R. Plan. My noble father,

Three times to-day I holp him to his horfe,
Three times beftrid him; thrice I led him off,
Perfuaded him from any further act :

But ftill where danger was, ftill there I met him;
And, like rich hangings in a homely house,
So was his will in his old feeble body.
But noble as he is, look where he comes.
Enter Salisbury..

Sal. Now by my fword, well haft thou fought to-day;

By th' mafs, fo did we all. I thank you, Richard.
God knows how long it is I have to live,

And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to day
You have defended me from imminent death.
-Well, Lords, we have not got that which we have,
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
Being oppofites of fuch repairing nature.
York. I know our fafety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the King is fled to London,
To call a prefent court of Parliament.
Let us purfue him ere the writs go forth.
What fays Lord Warwick, fhall we after them?
War. After them! nay, before them if we can.
Now, by my hand, Lords, 'twas a glorious day !
St Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.

Sound drum and trumpets, and to London all,
And more fuch days as thefe to us befail! [Exeunsa

*************

THE

THIRD PART

O F

HENRY VI

With the DEATH of the

DUKE of Y OR K.

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