Rah. 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 fhould quietly reign. Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

Rich. No; God forbid your Grace fhould 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 canst 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 it was he that made you to depofe,
Your oath, my Lord, is vain and frivolous;
Therefore to arms. And, father, do but think
How fweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whole circuit is Flyfium,

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
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 fhalt to London.presently,
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 Cobham,
With whom the Kentifhmen will willingly rise.
In them I truft for they are foldiers,

Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of fpirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more
But that I feek occafion how to rife,

And yet the King not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the houfe of Lancaster?

Enter Messenger.

But flay, what news? why com'ft thou in fuch post?
Gab. The Queen, with all the northern earls and
Intend here to befiege you in your caftle. [lords,
She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
And therefore fortify your hold, my Lord.

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

Edward and Richard, you fhall ftay with me;
My brother Montague fhall poft to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the King,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And trust not fimple Henry nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I'll go; I'll win them, fear it not.
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit Mont.

Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir Hugh Mortimer.

York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen means to besiege 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. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in or'And iffue forth and bid them battle ftrait. [der, York. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France,

[great,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one; Why fhould I not now have the like fuccefs? [Alarm. Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Field of Battle betwixt Sandal Cafile and Wakefield.

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 As for the brat of this accurfed Duke,

Whofe father flew my father, he shall die.

[life;

Tutor. And I, my Lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce. Tutor. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent 'Left thou be hated both of God and man. [child, [Exit, dragg'd aff. Clif. How now! is he dead already? or, is't fear That makes him clofe 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 fword, And not with fuch a cruel threatning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me fpeak before I die; I am too mean a fubject of thy wrath, Be thou reveng’d on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou fpeak'ft, poor boy; my father's blood

"Hath ftopt the paffage where thy words fhould 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 Were not revenge fufficient for me.

Ethine

No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not flake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The fight of any of the houfe of York
Is as a fury to torment my foul,

And till I root out their accurfed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore-

[Lifting his hand.
Rut. Olet me pray before I take my death.
-To thee I pray Sweet Clifford, pity me.
Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou flay me?
Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou haft one fon, for his fake pity me;

Left in revenge thereof, fith God is juft,
He be as miferably flain as I.

Ah, let me live in prifon all my days,
And when I give occafion of offence,

Then let me die, for now thou haft no cause.
Clif. No caufe!

Thy father flew my father, therefore die.

[Clif. ftabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis fumma fit ista tuæ* ! [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet! Ant! this thy fon's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall ruft upon my weapon, till thy blood, 'Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both [Exit.

Alarm. Enter Richard Duke of York.

Yerk. The army of the Queen hath got the field:
My uncles both are flain in refcuing me,
And all my followers to the eager foc

Turn back, and fly like fhips before the wind,
Or lambs purfu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My fons, God knows what hath bechanced them,
But this I kirow, they have deinean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
'And thrice cry'd, Courage, father! fight it out:
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple falchion painted to the hit

In blood of those that had encounter'd him:

And when the hardieft warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, Charge! and give no foot of ground;
And cry'd, A crown, or ele a glorious tomb;
A fceptre, or an earthly fepulchre.

With this we charg'd again; but out! alas,
We bodg'd again: as I have feen a fwan,
With bootlefs labour, fwim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
[Abort alarm within.
Ah! hark, the fatal followers do purfue,
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury,
And were I ftrong I would not fhun their fury.
The fands are number'd that make up my life;
Here muft I ftay, and here my life muft end.
Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the
Prince of Wales, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchlefs fury to more rage,
I am your butt, and I abide thy fhot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to fuch mercy as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment fhew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-day prick.
York. My afhes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all ;

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no fur-
ther;

So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons;
So defp'rate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers..

York. Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
And if thou canft, for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that flanders him with cowardice,
Whose frown hath madethee faint, and fly ere this.
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.

[Draws.