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Enter Somervile.
War. Say, Somervile, what fays my loving fon?
And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somer. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.

War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

Somer. It is not his, my Lord: here Southam lies : The drum your honour hears, marcheth from Warwick.

War. Who should that be ? belike, unlook’d-for friends.

Somer. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Glocester, and

Soldiers. K. Edzw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and found a parle. Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. War. On, unbid spight! is sportful Edward come. Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair ?

K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee, Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy? And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down, Call Warwick patron, and be penitent? And thou shalt ftill remain the Duke of York.

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said the King; Or did he make the jest against his will ?

War. Is not a dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift ? -Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give : I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K.Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick’s gift.

War. Thou art no Allas for so great a weight : And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.

K. Edw. But Warwick's King is Edward's prisoner : And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, What the body when the head is off?

Glo.

Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more fore-caft,
But while he thought to steal the single ten,
The king was sily finger'd from the deck : (20)
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's Palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

K. Edw. 'Tis even fo; yet you are Warwick still.
Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,

kneel down :
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools.

War. I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a fail to strike to thee.

[friend;
K. Edw. Sail, how thou canst; have wind and tide thy
This hand, faft wound about thy coal-black hair,
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood;
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.

Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours. War. O chearful colours ! see, where Oxford comes ! (20) But rubile be thought to steal the single ten, The King was sily finger'd from the deck.) Tho' there may seem no consonance of metaphors betwixt a single ten, and a deck, the latter word being grown obsolete, and not acknowledg’d by our di&tionaries in the sense here required ; yet deck, in all our noribern counties, is to this day used to signify a pack or ftock of cards.

The allufion to cards every reader must have observ'd is very familiar with our author; but I'll subjoin a few instances in proof, that occur to me at present. Antony and Cleopatra.

-She Eros, she
Pack'd cards with Cafar.
Titus Andronicus.

As sure a card, as ever won the set.
Taming the Sbrew.

A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!

Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten. i Henry VI.

There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.
King John.

Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easy match play'd for a crown,
And fall I now give o'er the yielded fett?

Oxf.

H 4

Oxf. Qxford! Oxford! for Lancaster.
Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.

K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us bartle :
If not, the city being of fmall defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the fame.
War. o, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy help.

Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours. Mont. Montague! Montague ! for Lancaster.

Gle. Thou, and thy brother both, shall buy this treason Ev’n with the dearest 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 fold their lives unto the house of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.

Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.
War. And, lo! where George of Clarence fweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle :
With whom an upright zeat 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 tbrow my infamy at tbees

And

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.

you

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,

Wax,

H 5

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

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