My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.
K. HEN. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear ;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with
grief.

Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing
in the body.

FATH. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see: is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!
O, pity, God, this miserable age!

What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

K. HEN. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face,

The fatal colours of our striving houses:

The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth :
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
SON. How will my mother for a father's death
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

FATH. How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!

K. HEN. How will the country for these woful chances

Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death?
FATH. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?
K. HEN. Was ever king so grieved for subjects'
woe?

Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.
SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep
my fill.
[Exit with the body.

FATH. These arms of mine shall be thy winding

sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Even for the loss of thee, having no more,

As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that

will,

For I have murdered where I should not kill.

[Exit with the body.

K. HEN. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with

care,

Here sits a king more woful than

you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,

the PRINCE, and EXETER.

PRINCE Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:

Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. MAR. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
EXE. Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after: I'll away before.

K. HEN. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter:

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Another part of the field.

A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. CLIF. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.

O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow

More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phœbus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,

Giving no ground unto the house of York,

They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm

Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much

lenity?

Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints.

Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, George,

RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. EDW. Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,

And smooth 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 sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.

But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
WAR. No, 'tis impossible he should escape;
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

[CLIFFORD groans, and dies. EDW. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy

leave?

RICH. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

EDW. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

RICH. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 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;