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Oxf. Qxford! Oxford! for Lancaster.
Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other foes may fet upon our backs.
Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us barele:
If not, the city being of fmall defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the same.
War o, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours. Mont. Montague! Montague ! for Lancaster.
Glo. Thou, and thy brother both, shall buy this treason Ev’n with the deareft blood your bodies bear.
K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory; My mind presageth happy gain and conqueft.
Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.
Som. Somerset! Somerset! for Lancaster.
Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.
Enter Clarence, zvith Drum and Colours.
War. And, lo! where George of Clarence fweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle :
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love.
Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick call.-
[A Parley is founded; Richard and Clarence whisper
together; and then Clarence takes his red rose out of
bis hat, and throws it at Warwick.) (21) Clar. Father of Warwick, know you, what this means ? Look, here, I throw my infamy at thee : I will not ruinate my father's house, Who
gave his blood to lime these stones together, (21) A Parley is founded, &c.} This neceffary note of direction, which explains the matter in action, I restor'd from the old Quarto. And, without it, it is impoffible that any reader can guess at the meaning of this line of Clarence; Laak, bere I throw my infamy at ibeca
And fet op Lancaster. Why, trow'lt thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is fo harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Againft his brother, and his lawful King
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath :
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Feptba's, when he sacrific'd his daughter,
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That, to delerve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe:
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou ftir abroad)
To plague thee for thy foul mis-leading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends :
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults ;
For I will henceforth be no more unconftant.
K. Ed. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd, Than if thou never hadît deserv'd our hate.
Glo. Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like. War. O pafling traitor, perjur'd and unjuft!
K.E.What, Warwick,wilt thou leave the town and fight Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence ;
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'it.
K. E. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords, to the field; St. George and victory! [Exeunt.
March. Warwick and his company follow.
SCENE, a Field of Battle near Barnet.
Ala"um and excurfions. Enter Edward, bringing fortb
Warwick wounded. K. Edw.
there; die thou, and die our fear;
For Warwick Now, Montague, fit fast, I seek for thee ; That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company. [Exit,
War. Ah, who is nigh ? come to me, friend, or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick ??
Why ask I that? my mangled body shews,
My blood, my want of strength, my fick heart thews,
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the ax's eige,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle ;
Under whose Thade the rampant lion slept,
Whose top branch over-peer'd fove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
These eyes, that now are dim'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,
To search the secret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were likend oft to kingly sepulchres :
For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smear’d in duft and blood,
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, (22)
Ev'n now forsake me ; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ?
And live we how we can, yet die we muft.
Enter Oxford and Somerset.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our loss again :
The Queen from France hath brought a puiffant power:
Ev'n now we heard the news : ah, could'st thou fly!
War. Why, then I would not fly.-Ah, Montague,
(22) My parks, my walks, my manors that I bad,
Ev'r now forsake me ; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.] I won't venture to afirm; our
author is imitating Horace here; but, surely, this passage is very
much of a cast with that which I am about to quote.
Linquenda tellus & Domus, & placens
Uxor ; neque harum, quas colis, Arborum
Te præter invisas Cupresos,
Ulla brevem Dominum sequetur,
Lib. ii. Ode 14
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul a while.
Thou lov'st me not ;, for, brother, if thou didit,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glews my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Som. Ah Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gasp cry'd out for Warwick.
And said, Commend me to my yaliant brother.
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,
Which founded like a cannon in a vault,
That might not be distinguish'd; but at last
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,
O, farewel, Warwick !
War. Sweetly reft his foul !
Fly, Lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids
You all farewel, to meet again in heaven. [Dies.
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power. 14
(They bear away his body, and Exeunt. SCENE changes to another part of the Field. k lourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Glou
cester, Clarence, and the reft. K. E. HUS far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory,
But, in the midst of this bright-thining day,
1 spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious fun,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed :
I mean, my Lords, those powers, that the Queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv’d.our coait,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
And blow it to the source from whence it came.
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up;
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
Gle. The Queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong,
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.
If she hath, time to breathe, be well affured,
Her faction will be full as itrong as ours.
K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course tow'rd Tewksbury.
We having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight ; for willingness rids way :
And as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along :
Strike up the drum, cry, Courage ! and away. (Exeunt
SCENE changes to Tewksbury.
March. Enter the Queen, Prince of Wales, Somerset,
Oxford, and Soldiers.
Reat Lords, wise men ne'er fit and wail their loss,
I But chearly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown over-board, (23)
(23) Wbat tbough the malt be now blown overboard, The cable broke, sbe holding anchor lojt,
And balf our sailors swallow'd in the Flood ?] The allufion which the Queen purfues here, of the kingdom harrass'd by the calamities of civil war, to a ship distress’d by hard weather, seems a close copy from this fine draught of Horace :
Nonne vides, út
Nudum remigio latus,
Et malus celeri saucius Africo,
Antennæque gemant ? Ac fine fünibus
Vix durare Carine
Æquor Non tibi sunt integra lintea, &c.
Lib. iOde 14. And what is very remarkable, this image in both poets is made on the fame occasion, on the forms of civil fury. Only our poet very judiciuully, as using it metaphorically, is much shorter than Horace, who used it allegorically, which requir'd its being drawn out to greater length. There have been some modern criticks, Iknow, who won't allow this Ode in the Roman poet to be an al egory on the civil wars; but only a civil'invitation to a Matter'd ship that bore one of Horace's friends, to tay quietly in harbour. But we may as safely, I think, go along with Quintilian, (who muft have been, at least, as well informed in this matter) and he directly says, th: poip is the Roman commonwealth. Totusque etiam ille Horatii locus, quo navim pro republica, Auctuum tempeftates pro bellis civilibus, portum pro pace atque concardia dicit.Inftitut. Orator. lib, viii. cap. 6. De Tropis.