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K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times
more beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. Glou. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother
town and fight?
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence !
K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads
Lords, to the field ; Saint George and victory!
[Exeunt King EDWARD and his company.
March. WARWICK and his company follow.
bringing forth WARWICK wounded.
[Erit. WAR. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ?
shelter to the princely eagle,
Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET.
queen from France hath brought a puissant
power : Even now we heard the news: ah, couldst thou fly!
War. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my
hand, And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile ! Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. Som. Ah, Warwick ! Montague hath breathed
his last; And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick And said Commend me to
valiant brother, And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, That mought not be distinguish’d; but at last I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, O, farewell, Warwick ! War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save
yourselves; For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in
Dies. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! [Here they bear away his body.
Exeunt. SCENE III.
Another part of the field.
GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest.
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
that the queen
CLAR. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
every cloud engenders not a storm.
K. Edw. We are advertised by our loving friends
Plains near Tewksbury.
SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers.
wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood ? Yet lives our pilot still. Is’t meet that he Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved ? Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our topmast; what of him? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock ? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while! Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,