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-His oath inrolled in the Parliament:
And now to London all the crew are gone,
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,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand:
Why, Via! to London will we march amaine ;
And once again beftride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry, Charge upon our foes !-
But never once again turn back, and Ay.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er


he live to see a sun-fhine day, That cries, Retire; if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean, And when thou fail'it, (as God forbid the hour!) Must Edward fall, which peril heav'n forefend !

War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; The next degree is England's royal throne: For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along : And he, that throws not up his cap for joy, Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown; But found the trumpets, and about our task.

Rich. Then Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou haft shewn it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. Edru. Then strike up, drums : God and St. George for us!

Enter a Messenger War. How now? what news?

Mell. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puiffant hoft; And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why then it forts; brave warriors, let's away.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE, changes to York. Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland,

and the Prince of Wales, with Drums and Trumpets. Queen. Wel Yonder the head of that arch-enemy,

Elcome, my Lord, to this brave town of York. That sought to be encompast with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my Lord ?

K. H. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their wreck ;
To see this fight it irks my very soul :
With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious Liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside : (9)
To whom do lions caft their gentle looks?
Not to the beast, that would ufurp their den.
Whose hand is that the foreft bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who fcapes the lurking serpent's mortal fting?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her-back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on!
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown;
Thou smiling, while he knit his


He but a Duke, would have his son a King ;
And raise his iffue like a loving fire;
Thou being a King, bleft with a goodly son,
Didft yield consent to disinherit him ;
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings,
Wbich sometimes they have us’d with fearful Aight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
F 3

Offering (9) And harmless pity must be laid aside] This reading, I don't know for what reason, was introduc'd by Mr. Rowe, and followed by Mr. Pope: But all the old books have it rightly, harmful : meaning, that the King's lenity and pity were prejudicial to his interest

Offering their own lives in their young's defence ?
For fhame, my Liege, make them your precedent.
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy
Should lose his birth-right by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,
What my great Grandfather and grandfire got,
My careless father fondly gave away!
Ah, what a same was this! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, feel thy melting heart
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Henry. Full well hath Clifford plaid the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force :
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son, (10)
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave fon

my virtuous deeds behind ;
And would, my father had left me no more !
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in poffeffion any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York; would, thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! (nigh;


Queen. My Lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are And this soft courage makes your followers faint: You promis’d Knighthood to our forward fon, Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down.

K. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arise a Knight; And learn this leffon, draw thy sword in right.

(10) And happy always was it for that fon, W bose father for bis boarding went to bell.] Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope in this pointing have err'd with some of the old impresions, and quite subverted the poet's meaning. They make the King affert a sentiment, which he, in fact, is calling in question. I have restor'd the true pointing from the old Quarto, which Mr. Pope would have us believe he had collated. The King would argue thus; “ Tho' 'tis

a general saying, that the son is happy, whose miserly father goes “ to the devil; yet is every such son, without exception, happy, in “ having had such a parfimonious father?"


Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince.

Enter a Mefsenger.
Mef. Royal commanders, be in readiness;
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York:
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him King; and many fly to him.
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

Clif. I would, your Highness would depart the field: The Queen hath best fuccefs, when you are abfent.

Queen. Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Henry. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll North. Be it with resolution then to fight. [ftay.

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble Lords, And hearten those that fight in your

defence : Unfheath your sword, good father ; cry, St. George ! March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence,

Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? .

Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy Sovereign and thy lawful King?

Edw. I am his King, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted heir by his confent ;
Since when, his oath is broke; for as I hear,
You that are King, though he do wear the crown,
Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif. And reason too :
Who thould succeed the father, but the fon?

Rich. Are you there, butcher ? O, I cannot speak.

Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy fort.



Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy'd.
Rich. For God's sake, Lords, give signal to the fight..
War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?
Queen. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare

you speak? When

you and I met at St. Albans laft, Your legs did better service than your

War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fed.
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
Nortk. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you staya

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently,
Break off the parle, for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

Clif. I few thy father, call’ft thou him a child ?

Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward,
As thou didi kill our tender brother utland:
But, ere sun set, I'll make thee curse the deed.
K. Henry. Have done with words, my Lords, and hear

me speak.
Queen. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips:

K. Henry. Í prythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a King, and privileg'd to speak.

[here, Clif. My Liege, the wound, that bred this meeting Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be fill.

Ricb. Then, executioner, unfheath thy sword :
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd
That Clifford's manhood lies upon


Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no ?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head !
For York in justice puts his armour on.

Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Who ever got thee, there thy mother stands, For, well I wot, thou halt thy mother's tongue. Queen. But thou art neither like thy fire nor dam,


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