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-His oath inrolled in the Parliament:
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.
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 ;
Clif. My gracious Liege, this too much lenity
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 ?
K. Henry. Full well hath Clifford plaid the orator,
my virtuous deeds behind ;
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,
Enter a Mefsenger.
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
Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
Edw. I am his King, and he should bow his knee;
Clif. And reason too :
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?
you speak? When
you and I met at St. Albans laft, Your legs did better service than your
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently,
Clif. I few thy father, call’ft thou him a child ?
Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward,
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 :
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head !
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,