Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it
York. About what? Rich. About that which concerns your And thus most humbly I do take my leave. The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be
dead. [death. Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it [breathe, By giving the house of Lancaster leave to It will outrun you, father, in the end. [reign. York. I took an oath that he should quietly Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken : [year. I would break a thousand oaths to reign one Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn.
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York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not Before a true and lawful magistrate, [took That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arins. And, father, do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough, I will be king, or
Brother, thou shalt to London presently, [die.
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Nor-
And tell him privily of our intent. [folk,
You, Edward, shall unto my lord of Cobham,
With whom the Kentish men will willingly
In them I trust; for they are soldiers, [rise:
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth
But that I seek occasion how to rise,
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
But, stay what news? Why com'st thou in such post?
Mess. The queen with all the northern earls and lords
Intend here to besiege you in your castle :
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st
thou that we fear them?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;-
My brother Montague shall post to London :
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer,
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty! though the odds I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [be great, Many a battle have I won in France, Whenas the enemy hath been ten to one : Why should I not now have the like success? [Alarum. Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland and his Tutor.
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look, where bloody Clifford comes! Enter Clifford and Soldiers.
Clif. Chaplain, away: thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him com-
Clif. Soldiers, away with him.
Tut. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent
child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man! [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or is
[them. That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws;
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.--
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threatening look!
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die !--
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. [again:
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives Were not revenge sufficient for me : [and thine
No; if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore-
[Lifting his hand. Rut. O, let 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
Clif. Thy father hath.
[slay me?
Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause !
Clif. No cause?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ ! [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet ! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.
SCENE IV. Another part of the plains.
Alarum. Enter York.
York. The army of the queen hath got the field:
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons,God knows what hath bechancèd
them,
[selves
But this I know. --they have demean'd them-
Like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried," Courage, father! fight it
out!"
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried," Charge! and give no foot
of ground!"
And cried, -"A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !"
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
We bodg'd again: as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching
A short alarum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
And were I strong, I would not shun their
The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
I am your butt, and I abide your shot. [net.
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantage-
Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, show'd unto my
father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring A bird that will revenge upon you all: [forth 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? [further;
Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice, [this. Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [Draws.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford for a thousand causes
I would prolong a while the traitor's life.Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. so much
North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
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 foot 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 strives the woodcock with the gin.
North. So doth the coney struggle in the [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; [match'd.
So true men yield, with robbers so o'erNorth. What would your grace have done unto him now.
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, [armis, That raught at mountains with outstretched Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
What! was it you that would be England's Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ;
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult!
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud
Unless the adage must be verified, [queen;
That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut-The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
land?
[blood
Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the
That valiant 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 pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine
entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be
mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and
dance.
[sport:
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me
York cannot speak, unless 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 head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king 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 solemn cath?
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 temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O'tis a fault too, too unpardonable.
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his
head;
[dead.
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons
he makes.
[wolves of France,
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex [tooth!
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates !
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee
blush!
'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.
O tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, [child,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse-
less.
[thy wish:
Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast
thy will;
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false
Frenchwoman.
[me so,
North. Beshrew me, but his passions move
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,--
O, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet
boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
[Giving back the handkerchief.
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, "Alas, was a piteous deed!"-
There, take the crown, and, with the crown,
my curse:
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand !——
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
My soul to heaven, 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 sorrow gripes his soul.
Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord
Northumberland?
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whoin de-Think but upon the wrong he did us all, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle- Upon my target three fair shining suns.
hearted king.
[Stabbing him.
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious
God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out
thee.
[Dies.
Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set in on
York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard
too much.
[all. Rich. Say, how he died, for I will hear it Mess. Environèd he was with many foes;
SCENE I.-A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in And stood against them, as the hope of Trov Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy,
Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, with But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
their forces, marching.
Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd,
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the [news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the Or had he 'scap'd, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares my brother? why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought 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 rest 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 son.
See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three
[fect sun;
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a per-
Not separated with the racking clouds,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! 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 some event.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet
I think it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights to-
gether,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
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 de-
spite ;
[wept,
Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
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 same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!
O Clifford, boist rous Clifford ! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou 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, O never, shall I see more joy.
Rich. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture
[heart : Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames, that tears would
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's
bird,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with forces.
War. How now, fair lords!
What fare? what news abroad? [recount Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance,
Stab poniards in our flesh 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 Planta-
genet,
[tion,
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp-
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 sith then befallen.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest
gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts 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,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd towards St. Albans to intercept the
Bearing the king in my behalf along; [queen,
For by my scouts I was advértised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your
Short tale to make,-we at St. Albans met,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely
fought :
Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle
Warwick?
[England?
And when came George from Burgundy to
War. Some six miles off the duke is with
the soldiers;
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant
Warwick fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost
thou hear;
[of mine
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
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;
'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 out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
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-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
[sion. And now to London all the crew are gone,
succes-To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends, that thou, brave earl of
March,
But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
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 thresher with a flail,—
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 rewards:
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-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.
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