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Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand. I would prolong a while the traitor's life. [caules - Wrath makes him deaf. Speak thou, Northum

berland. North. Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much, , To prick thy finger, though io wound his laeart. What valour were it when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his fooi away? It is war's prize to take all 'vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles, Clif. Ay, ay, so itrives the woodcock with the gin. Norih. So doth the coney struggle in the net.

[York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquerd

booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. North. What would your Grace have done unto

hiin now? Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumber

land, Come, make him stand upon this mole-hill here, That raught at mountains with out-stretched arins, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. -What! was it you that would be England's King? Was't you that revelld in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high defçent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now, The wanton Edward and the lusty George ! And where's that valiant crook-back'd prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his Dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? . Look, York; I staind this napkin with the blood That valiani Clifford with his rapier's point Made issue from the bosom of the boy ; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas!

poor York; but that I hate thee deadly, , I should lament thy miserable state. I prythee, grieve, to make me merry, York...

What, hath thy fiery heart fo parchi'd thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldlt be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee ihus:
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may fing and dance,
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I fee; to make me sport :
York cannot speak unlefs he wear a crown.
A crown for York-and, Lords, bow low to him :
Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

[Putting a paper crown on his heado
Ay, marry, Sir, now looks he like a king:
Ay, this is he that took King's Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his folemn oath ?.
As I bethink me you should not be king
Till our King Henry had shook hands with death..
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his teniples of the diadem,
Now in his life against your holy oath?
Oh, 'tis a fault 100 too unpardonable.
Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Queen. Nay, stay, let's hear the oraisons he makes. Pork. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves

of France, Whose longue more poisons than the adder's tooth: How ill-beleeming is it in thy fex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates ? But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging, Made in pudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud Queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou cam'ft, of whom deriv'd, Were fame enough to Mame thee, wert thou not

Diameless: Thy fasher bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, yet not so wealthy as an English veomın. Flath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud Queen,. Unless the adage mult be verify'd,

" That leggars mounted run their horse to death."
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women pr ud;
But God he knows thy share thereof is finall.
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at.
'Tis government * that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable,
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the antipodes are unto us,
Or as the South to the septentrion.
Oh, tyger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
How couldīt thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to wear a woman's face?
Women are sofi, mild, pitiful and flexible,
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy willi.
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thouhast thy wil.
For raging wind blows lip inceliant how'rs,
And when the rage aliays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Ruland's obiequies,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, falle French

North. Beihrew me but his pafsions move me so, That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have staind i

with blood; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, Oh ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father's tears ; This cloth thou dip’dst. in blood of my sweet boy, , And I with tears do walh the blood away, Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this; And, if thou tell'it the heavy story right, Upon my soul the hearers will thed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say,

Alas, it was a piteous deed!"

[He gives back the handkerchief.: Government, in the language of that time, signified: evenness of cemper and decency of manners. Fohnjordson

woman.

There-take the crosyn; and with the crown my
And in thy need such comfort come to thee, [curse.
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world,
My soul to heav'n, my blood upon your heads.

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly-forrow gripes his soul.

Queen. What, weeping ripe, my Lord Northum. Think but upon the wrong he did us all, [berland? And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

[Stabbing him. Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King.

[Stabs himi York. Open the gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee..

Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

Dies,

А стII:

SC EN E I.

I the no

Near Mortimer's Crofs. in Wales.. A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power.

Edward.
Wonder how our princely father 'scapa,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ?
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been sain, we should have heard the news;
Or had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
Horr fares my brother? why is he so fad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become..
I saw him in the batile range about;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth,
Meihought 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 reft 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 fon.
See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious lunj
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trim'd like a yonker prancing to his love?

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see three suns

Rich. Three glorious fiins, each one a perfect fun, Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, fee, 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 fome event.

Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
I think it cites us, brother, to the field; Cheard of.
That we the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our ineeds, ,
Should, not withitanding, join our lights together,
And over-fine the earth, as this the world.
Whare'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 Melenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foreteli
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?

Mell. Ah! one that was a woful looker on,
When as the noble Duke of York was Nain,
Your princely father, and my loving Lord,
Edw. Oh, speak no more! for I have heard too

much. Rich. Say how he dy'd; for I will hear it all.

Mes Environed he was with many foes, And itood against them, as the hope of Troy

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