Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

EDW. I hear their drums: let's set our men in

order,

And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

YORK. Five men to twenty! though the odds

be great,

I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.

Many a battle have I won in France,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one : Why should I not now have the like success? [Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. 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.

Tur. And I, my lord, will bear him company.

CLIF. Soldiers, away with him!

TUT. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent

child,

Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

[Exit, dragged off by Soldiers.

CLIF. How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

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 revenged on men, and let me live.
CLIF. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my
father's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should

enter.

RUT. Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIF. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine

Were not revenge sufficient for me;

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-

RUT. O, let me pray

[Lifting his hand.

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

slay me?

CLIF. Thy father hath.

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. Di 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.

SCENE IV.

Another part of the field.

[Exit.

Alarum. Enter RICHARD, DUKE of 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 pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
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 falchion, 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 charged again: but, out, alas!
We bodged again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide
And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
[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 fury:
The sands are number'd that make up my

life;

Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBER-
LAND, the young PRINCE, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTH. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
CLIF. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.
YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all :

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? CLIF. So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

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 again, 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

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIF. I will not bandy with thee word for

word,

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
Q. MAR, Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand

causes

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.

Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

NORTH. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much

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.

« AnteriorContinuar »