Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in fight,
With fiery eyes fparkling for very wrath,
And bloody fteel grafp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exet. Away, for vengeance comes along with them.
-Nay, ftay not to expoftulate, make fpeed;
Or elfe come after, I'll away before.

K Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet

Not that I fear to ftay, but love to go

[Exeter;

Whither the Queen intends. Foreward, away!

[Exeunt.

A loud alarm. Enter Clifford wounded.

Clif. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies;
Which, while it lafted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my foul.
My love and fear glew'd many friends to thee;
[Falling.
And, now I fall, the tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, ftrength'ning mil-proud York.
The common people fwarm like fuminer flies;
And whither fly the gnats, but to the fun?
And who fhines now, but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus! hadft thou never giv'n confent
That Phaeton fhould check thy fiery fteeds,
Thy burning car had never fcorch'd the earth;
And, Henry, hadft thou fway'd as kings fhould do,
Or as thy father and his father did,

Giving no ground unto the houfe of York,
They never then had fprung like fummer flies.
I, and ten thousand in this lucklefs realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadft kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootlefs are plaints, and curelefs are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor ftrength to hold out flight;
The foe is mercilefs, and will not pity,

For at their hands I have deferv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effufe of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the reft;
I ftabb'd your fathers' bofoms, fplit my breaft.
[He faints.
Alarm and retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick,
Richard, Montague, Clarence and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we, Lords; good fortune bids
us pause,

And fmooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a fail, fill'd with a fretting guft,
Command an argofie to ftem the waves.
But think you, Lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he fhould escape:
For though before his face I fpeak the word,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And wherefoe'er he is, he's furely dead.

[Clifford groans. Rich. Whofe foul is that which takes her hearty leave?

A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
See who it is.

Edw. And now the battle's ended,

If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis ClifWho, not contented that he lopp'd the branch, [ford; hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But fet his murd'ring knife unto the root

From whence that tender fpray did fweetly fpring; I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Inftead whereof, let his fupply the room. Measure for Measure must be anfwered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal fcreech-owl to our houfe,

That nothing fung but death to us and ours:

Now death fhall ftop his dismal threat'ning found, And his ill-boading tongue no more fhall ipeak War. I think his understanding is bereft.

Speak, Clifford, doft thou know who speaks to
thee?

Dark cloudy death o'erfhades the beams of life,
And he nor fees, nor hears us what we fay.
Rich. O, 'would he did! and fo, perhaps, he doth.
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid fuch bitter taunts
As, in the time of death, he gave our father.
Cla. If fo thou think'ft, vex him with eager words.
Rich. Clifford, afk mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootlefs penitence.
War. Clifford, devife excuses for thy faults.
Cla. While we devife fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am fon to York.
Edw. Thou pitied'ft Rutland, I will pity thee.
Cla.Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford, fwear as thou
wait wont.

Rich. What, not an oath! nay, then the world
goes hard,

When Clifford cannot spare his friends
an oath
Inow by that he's dead; and, by my foul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours' life,
That I in all defpight might rail at him,
This hand fhould chop it off; and with the iffuing
Stifle the villain, whofe unftanched thirft

York and young Rutland could not fatisfy.

[blood

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's
And rear it in the place your father's ftands. [head,
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal King;
: From whence fhall Warwick cut the fea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy Queen;

So fhalt thou finew both thefe lands together:
And having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The fcatter'd foe that hopes to rife again;
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz t' offend thine ears,
First will I see the coronation,

VOL. VI.

T

And then to Britanny I'll crofs the fea,

T' effect this marriage, fo it please my Lord.
Edw. Ev'n as thou wilt, fweet Warwick, let it
For on thy fhoulder do I build my feat; [be;
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counfel and confent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glo'fter,
And George of Clarence; Warwick as ourself
Shall do and undo, as him pleafeth best.
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, Ġeorge of
For Glo'fter Dukedom is too ominous. [Glo'fter;

War. Tut, that's a foolish obfervation.
Richard, be Duke of Glo'ter. Now to London,
To fee thefe honours in poffeffion.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

A Wood in Lancashire.

Enter Sinklo and Humphry, with cross-bows in

their hands.

Sinklo.

Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud our

felves,

For through this laund anon the deer will come,'
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.

Hum. I'll itay above the hill, fo both may fhoot.
Sink. That cannot be; the noife of thy cross-
Will feare the herd, and fo my fhoot is loft: [bow
Here ftand we both, and aim we at the best;
And, for the time fhall not feem tedious,

I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,

In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
Hum. Here comes a man, let's stay 'till he be past.

Enter King Henry with a prayer-book.

K. Henry. From Scotland am I ftol'n ev'n of pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wifhful fight.

No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,

Thy place is fill'd, thy fceptre wrung from thee;
Thy balm wafh'd off, wherewith thou waft anoint-
No bending knee will call thee Cefar now, [ed:
No humble fuitors prefs to fpeak for right,

No, not a man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

Sink. Ay, here's a deer whofe fkin's a keeper's This is the quondam King, let's feize upon him. [fee. K. Henry. Let me embrace thefe four adverfities; For wife men say it is the wifeft courfe.

Hum. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
Sink. Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.
K. Henry. My Queen and fon are gone to France
for aid,

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone to crave the French King's fifter
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen and fon! your labour is but loft;
For Warwick is a fubtle orator,

And Lewis a Prince foon won with moving words.
-By this account, then, Margaret may win hin,
For the's a woman to be pitied much;

Her fighs will make a batt'ry in his breast,
Her tears will pierce, into a marble heart,
The tyger will be mild, while the doth mourn,
And Nero would be tainted with remorfe,
To hear and fee her plaints, her brinith tears.
-Ay, but he's come to beg, Warwick to give;
She, on his left fide, craving aid for Henry;
He, on his right, afking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and fays, her Henry is depos'd;
He fmiles, and fays, his Edward is install'd;
That the, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more,
While Warwick tells his title, fmooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And, in conclufion, wins the King from her,
With promife of his fifter, and what elfe,
To ftrengthen and fupport King Edward's place.
- Margret, thus 'twill be, and thou, poor foul,
Art then forfaken, as thou went'ft forlorn.

Ham. Say, what art thou that talk'ft of Kings › and Queens?