Imagens das páginas

Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. [amain.

Queen. Mount you, my Lord, towards Berwick post Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey-hounds Having the fearful Aying hare in fight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel graspt in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

Exe. Away, for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expoftulate, make speed: Or else come after, I'll away

before. K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter ;; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away! [Exeunt.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford wounded. (12)

Clif. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, More than my body's parting with my foul. . My love and fear glew'à many friends to thee ; (Falling. And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt, Impairing Henry, strengthning mis-proud York. The common people swarm like summer-flies; (13).

(12) Enter Clifford wounded.] In the ift quarto, there is this cir. cumftance added; Enter Clifford wounded, with an arrow in bis neck. The players, in their edition, had reason to make a retrenchment of this; for, no doubt, 'twas a point of ridicule to see an actor come upon the stage to die, with an arrow fixt in his neck. And this parf ge I find rallied by Beaumont and Fletcher in their Knight of the Burning Peffle. For Ralph, the grocer's prentice, is there introduc'd, with a forked arrow tbrougb bis bead; and makes a long burlesque harangue in a bantering imitation of Clifford's speech here. Take a short sample of his last dying words.

Farewel, all you good boys in merry Lordon,
Ne’er shall we more upon Sbrove tuesday meet,
And pluck down houses of iniquity.
My pain increaseth:-I shall never more
Hold open, whilf another pumps both legs;
Nor daub a fattin gown with rotten eggs.
Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall;
I.die: fly, Ay, my soul, to Grocer's Hall.

[Dies. (13) The common people swarm like summer fies.] This line, which is a necessary introduction to that which follows, and which is left out in all the other impressions, I have reftor'd from the old quarto.

And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ?
And who Nines now but Henry's enemies?
Phæbus ! - hadit thou never giv'n consent
That Phaeton ihould check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car had never scorch'd the earth;
And Henry, hadit thou sway'd as Kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer fies.
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadit kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity &
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds ;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity :
For at their hands I have deferv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:
Come York, and Richard; Warwick, and the rest ;
I ftabb’d your fathers 'bosoms ; split my


[He faints. Alarum, and Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard,

Montague, Clarence, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we, Lords, good fortune bids us

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a King,
As doth a fail, fill'd with a fretting guft,
Command an argofy to stem the waves.
But think you, Lords, that Clifford Aled with them?

War. No, 'tis imposible he should escape:
For though before his face I speak the word,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And where oe'er he is, he's surely dead.

(Clifford groans. Rich. Whose soul is that, which takes her heavy leave ?:

A deadly

A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
See who it is.

Edw. And now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch,
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth;
But fet his murd'ring knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring ;
I mean, our princely father, Duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there : Instead whereof, let his supply the room. Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal fcreech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours : Now death hall ftop his difmal threatning found, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall Tpeak.

War. I think, his understanding is bereft: Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'er-shades his beams of life, And he nor fees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit;
Becaufe he would avoid such bitter taunts,
As in the time of death he gave our father.

Cla. If so thou think'ft, vex him with eager words.
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Cla. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didit love York, and I am son to York.
Edzv. Thou pitied'ft Rutland, I will pity thee.
Cla. Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford; swear, as thou waft wont.

Rich. Whát, not an oath! nay, then the world goes hard,
When Clifford cannot Spare his friends an oath :
I know by that, he's dead ; and, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours life,
That I in all despight might rail at him,

This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain, whose unftanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal King :
From whence fhalt Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen.
So shalt thou finew both these lands together.
And having France thy friend, thou halt not dread
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again :
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz [offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation ;
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
T'effect this marriage, so it please my Lord.

Edw. Ev'n as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be ; For on thy shoulder do I build


And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counsel, and consent, is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glo'fter ;
And George, of Clarence; Warrick as ourself
Shall do and undo, as him pleaseth beft.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George of Glofter ; For Glofter's dukedom is too ominous. (14)

(14) For Glu'fter's duikedom is too ominous.] This passage seems fneer'd at by B. Jobnfon in his Devil's an Afs: where a foolish fellow is duped into the opinion of being created a Duke.

Meer-cr. I think, we ha' found a place to fit you now, Sir: Glou. cester.

Fitz-dot. O, no; I'll none.
Meer-cr. Why, Sir ?
Firz.dat. 'Tis fatal.

Meer-cr. That you say right in. Spencer, I think, the youngery had his last honour thence. But he was but an Earl.

Fitz-dot. I know not that, Sir : But Thomas of Woodstock, l'm sure, was Duke; and he was made away at Calice, as Duke Humphry was at Bury: And Richard the Tbird, you know what end he came to.

Meer-cr. By my faith, you're cunning in the chronicle, Sir,

Fiiz-dor. No, i confess, I ha't from the play-books; and think, they're more authentick.


War. Tut, that's a foolish observation : Richard, be Duke of Gloʻster : now to London, To see these honours in poffeffion.




SCENE, a Wood in Lancashire.


Enter Sinklo and Humphry, with cross-bows in their


Nder this thick-grown brake we'll throud ourselves,

For through this land anon the deer will come ;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
Hum. I'll stay above the hill, fe both may

Sink. That cannot be : the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost:
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a day,
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
Hum. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past..

Enter King Henry, with a prayer-book.
K. Henry. From Scotland am I stol’n even of pure

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight:
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,
Thy place is fill’d, thy scepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm washt off wherewith thou wast anointed :
No bending knee will call thee Cæfar now,
No humble fuitors press to speak for right:
No, not a man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

Sink. Ay, here's a deer, whose skin's a keeper's fee : This is the quondam King, let's seize upon him.

K. Herry..

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