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Should lose his birth-right by his father's fault?
K. Henry. Full well hath Clifford plaid the oraz
K. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arise a Knight;
Princt. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
Enter a Messenger.
Clif. I would your Highness would depart the field, The Queen hath best success when you are absent. Queen. Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our for
K. Henry. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore
North. Be it with resolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble Lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheath your sword, good father. Cry St George!
S CE N E IV. March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Cla.
rence, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for And set thy diadem upon my head, [grace, Or 'bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy. Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy Sovereign and thy lawful King ?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent; Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear, You that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caus'd him by new act of parliament To blot out me, and put his own son in.
Clif. And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son ? Rich. Are you there, butcher? -0, I cannot
dare you speak? When you and I met at St Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now'tis thine.. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me
thence. North. No, nor your manhood, that durft make
you stay. Richi Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
-Break off the parle, for scarce I can refrain
*Clif. I flew thy father, call'Al thou him a child?
Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Henry. Have done with words, my Lords, and
hear me speak. Queen. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
X. Henry I pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My Liege, the wound that bred this meet
ing here, Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : By him that made us all, I am resolv'd That Clifford's manhood lyes upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, Thall I have right or no? A thousand men have broke their faits to day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown..
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head! For York in justice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is
right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands, . For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
Queer. But thou art neither like thy sire nor daing.
Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, :
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex
traught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand
crowns, To make this shameless callat know herself. -Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy hufand may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Againemnon's brother wrong'd By that falle woman, as this King by thee. His father revelld in the heart of France, And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop, And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day But when he took a beggar to his bed, And grac'd thy poor fire with his bridal day, Even then that sun-fhine brew'd a show'r for him, That walli'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd fedition on his crowa at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride ? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept, And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had Aipt our claim until another age. Gla. But when we saw our fun-fhine made thy
Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee ;
Queen. Stay, Edward
S CE N E V. Changes to a Field of Battle at Ferrybridge in :
Alarm. Excursions. Enter Warwick. War. Fore-spent with toil, as runners with a race, : I lay me down a little while to breathe ; For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strengths, And, spight of spight, needs must I relt a while.
Enter Edward running. Edw. Smile, gentle Heav'n! or strike, ungentle
death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded: War.'How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good ?:
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter Richard. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawa,
thyself? Thy brother's blood* the thirsty earth hath drunk;", Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance, And in the very pangs of death he cry'd, (Like to'a difinal clangor heard from far)
Warwick, revenge ; bro her, revenge my death." So underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoaking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
It was not the Marquis of Montague who ivas Naina in this battle, but a natural brother of the Earl of War wick...