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Against the Greeks, that would have ent’red Troy..
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little åx,
Hew down and fell the hardest timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdu'd,
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm :
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen;
Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despight;
Laugh’d in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheek
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain :
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the fame; and there it doth remain
The saddest spectacle that ere I view'd.

Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now iliou art gone, we have no itaff, no stay.
Oh Clifford, boist'rous Clifford ! thou hast Hain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry,
And treacherously haft tripu vanquish'd him;
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee.
Now my soul's 'palace is become a prison :
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, oh never, mall I fee more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture -
Scarce serves to quench iny furnace-burning heart:
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden ; :
For self-fame wind, that I Mould speak withal,
Is kindling coals that fire


my breast !
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears then for babe's; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge ihy deatli,
Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant Duke hath left with His dukedom and his chair with me is left. [thee:

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Shew thy descent, by gazing gainst the fun; For chair and dukedom, throne and.kingdom, fay. Either that's thine, or else thou wert not highline


S. CE N E II. March. Enter Warwick, Marquis of Montague,

and their army. War: How now, fair Lords ? what fare? wirat

news abroad? Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance Stab poniards in our felh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant Lord, the Duke of York is slain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I.come to tell you things fith then befal’n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave fither breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings as swiftly as the post could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I then in London, keeper of the King, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, March'd towards St Albans t'intercept the Queen, Bearing the King in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent: To dash our late decree in parliament, Touching King Henry's oath, and your fucceflion. Short tale to make, we at St Alban's met, Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought; But whether 'twas the coldness of the King, Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queen, That robb'd my foldiers of their hated spleen's Or whether 'twas report of her success, Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge ; but to conclude with truth, Their weapons, like to lightning, came and went;, Our Soldiers, like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like a lazy thrasher with a fail,


Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay and great reward ;
But all in vain, they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day;
So that we fled; the King unto the Queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
In haste, post-hafte, are come to join with you;
For in the Marches here we heard you were,
Making another head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

War. Some six miles off the Duke is with his And for your brother, he was lately sent [power; From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick Oft have I heard his praises ir pursuit, But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful scepter from his fift, Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace and prayer.

Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick,blame me not; 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our beads ? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay; and to it, Lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you. And therefore comes my brother Montague. [out; Attend me, Lords. The proud insulting Queen, With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have, wrought the easy-welting King, like wax.: He swore consent to your succellion,

His oath inrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To fruitrare both his oath, and what beside
May make against the houle of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thouland strong;
Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen can't procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, via! to London will we march amain,
And once again bestride our foaming leeds,
And once again cry, Charge upoir our foes!
But never once again turn back and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Ne’er may he live to see a lun-thine day, . [speak: That cries, Retire, -if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy thoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st, (as God forbid the hour!) Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!

War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;
The next degree is England's royal throne,
For King of England thalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he that throws not


Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown;
But found the trumpets, and about our task.

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard ag
As thou hast thewn it flinty by thy deeds, (steel,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums; God and St George
for us!

Enter a Meßenger. War. How now? what news ?

Mell. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The Queen' is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for Ipeedy counsel. War. Why then it forts *; brave warriors, let's away.

[Exeunt omnes. * Why then things are as they should be. Johnson.

for joy,



Changes to York. Enter King Henry, the Queex, Clifford, Northum. berland, and the - Prince of Wales, with drums *a 11d trunipets.

Queen. Welcome, my Lord, to this brave town of Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,

[Yorkie That sought to be encompast with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my Lord?

K. Henry. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear To see this sight, it irks my very foul. [their wreck. -With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif: My gracious Liege, this too much-denity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking ferpent's mortal sting? Not he that séts his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn 'being trodden on; And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou siniling, while he knit his-angry brows, He but a Duke, would have his fon a King, "And raise his issue, like a loving fire : Thou being a 'King, blest with a goodly son, Didst, yield consent to difinherit him, Which argu'd thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them (even with those wings Which sometimes they have us'd with fearful fight) Make war with him that climb'd-unto the nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence ? For shame, mý Liege, make them your precedent. Were it not pity that this 'goodly boy,

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