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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 fhame was this ! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel 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, didit thou never bear,
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 my 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 for, W bose father for bis boarding went to bell.] Mr. Rorve and Mr. Pope in this pointing have err'd with some of the old impresions, and quite fubverted 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 lon is happy, whose miserly father goes “ to the devil; yet is every such son, without exception, happy, in “ having bad luch 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 fake, Lords, give signal to the fight..
War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilothou 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 fled.
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
Nortk. No, nor your manhood, that durit make you stay.

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 flew thy father, call’ft thou him a child ?

Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward, As thou didit kill our tender brother Rutland : But, ere fun 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. I 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 ftill.

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



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 Warrick 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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But like a foul mif- shapen stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided ;
As venomous toads, or lizards dreadful stings.

Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a King,
(As if a channel should be call’d the sea).
Sham'ft thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught;
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns
To make this shameless callet know herself.
Hélen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this King by thee.
His father revell’d in the heart of France,
And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop ::
And had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day..
But when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor fire with his bridal-day,
Even then that fun-fhine brew'd a show'r for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd fedition on his crown at home :
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride ?
Hadft thou been meek, our title still had flept';
And we, in pity of the gentle King,
Had fipt our claim until another age.

Cla. But when we saw, our sun-line made thy springs
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave till we have hewn thee downg.
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny’dst the gentle King to speak..
Sound trumpets, let our bloody colours waves,
And either victory, or else a grave..
Queen, Stay, Edward


E 5.

Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

[Exeunt omnes,

SCENE changes to a Field of Battle at Ferri

bridge in Yorkshire.



Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick.
Ore-spent with toil, as runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe :
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Have robb'd my strong-knit finews of their ftrength;
And, spight of spight, needs must I rest awhile.

Enter Edward running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heav'n! or strike, ungentle death !
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good?

Enter Clarence.
Cla. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fy?

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter Richard. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why halt thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, (u)

Broach'd (11) Tby brother's blood the thirsty earth bath drunk,] This passage, from the variation of the copies, gave me no little perplexity. The old 4to applies this description to the death of Salisoury, Warwick's father. But this was a notorious deviation from the truth of history. For the Earl of Salisbury in the battle at Wakefield, wherein Ricbard Duke of York lost his life, was taken prisoner, beheaded at Pomfret, and his head, together with the Duke of York's, fix'd over Yorkgates. Then, the only brother of Warwick, introduc'd in this play, is the Marquiss of Montacute ; (or Montague, as he is callid by our author :) but he does not die, till ten years after, in the battle at Barnet ; where Warwick likewise was kill'd. The truth is, the brother, here mention’d, is no person in the Dramai and his death


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