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 flying hare in fight,

With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody fteel grafpt in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

Exe. Away; for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, ftay not to expoftulate, make speed:

Or elfe come after, I'll away before.

K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter ; Not that I fear to ftay, 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 lafted, gave King Henry light.
Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

More than my body's parting with my foul.
My love and fear glew'd many friends to thee; [Falling.
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, ftrengthning mis-proud York.
The common people fwarm like fummer-flies; (13)

(12) Enter Clifford wounded.] In the 1ft quarto, there is this circumftance added; Enter Clifford wounded, with an arrow in his neck. The players, in their edition, had reason to make a retrenchment of this; for, no doubt, 'twas a point of ridicule to fee an actor come upon the ftage to die, with an arrow fixt in his neck. And this paff ge I find rallied by Beaumont and Fletcher in their Knight of the Burning Peftle. For Ralph, the grocer's prentice, is there introduc'd, with a forked arrow through bis head; and makes a long burlesque harangue in a bantering imitation of Clifford's fpeech here. Take a fhort fample of his laft dying words.

Farewel, all you good boys in merry London,
Ne'er fhall we more upon Shrove tuesday meet,
And pluck down houses of iniquity.

My pain increaseth:-I shall never more
Hold open, whilft another pumps both legs;
Nor daub a fattin gown with rotten eggs.
Set up a ftake, oh, never more I fhall;
L.die: fly, fly, my foul, to Grocer's Hall..

[Dies

(13) The common people fwarm like fummer flies.] This line, which. is a neceffary introduction to that which follows, and which is left out in all the other impreffions, I have reftor'd from the old quarto.

And whither fly the gnats, but to the fun?
And who fhines now but Henry's enemies?
Phabus! hadft thou never giv'n confent
That Phaeton fhould check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car had never fcorch'd the earth;
And Henry, hadit thou fway'd as Kings fhould do,
Or as thy father and his father did,

Giving no ground unto the houfe of York,
They never then had fprung like fummer flies.
I, and ten thoufand in this lucklefs realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadft kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity
Bootlefs are plaints, and curelefs are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor ftrength 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 effufe of blood doth make me faint:
Come York, and Richard; Warwick, and the reft;
I stabb'd your fathers 'bofoms; split my breast.

{He faints. Alarum, and Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Montague, Clarence, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now breathe we, Lords, good fortune bids us paufe;

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops purfue 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 ftem the waves.

But think you, Lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impoffible he fhould escape:
For though before his face I fpeak the word,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And wherefoe'er he is, he's furely dead.

[Clifford groans.

Rich. Whofe foul 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 fpray did fweetly 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 fupply the room.

Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal fcreech-owl to our house, That nothing fung but death to us and ours: Now death fhall ftop his difmal threatning found, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. War. I think, his understanding is bereft: Speak, Clifford, doft thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'er-fhades his beams of life, And he nor fees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, would he did! and fo, perhaps, he doth. 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit ;

Becaufe he would avoid fuch bitter taunts,
As in the time of death he gave our father.

Cla. If fo thou think'ft, vex him with eager words.
Rich. Clifford, afk mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootlefs penitence.
War. Clifford, devife excuses for thy faults.
Cla. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
Edrv. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Cla. Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford; fwear, as thou waft wont.
Rich. What, 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 foul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours life,
That I in all despight might rail at him,

This hand fhould chop it off; and with the iffuing blood
Stifle the villain, whofe unftanched thirst

York and young Rutland could not fatisfy.

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 fhall Warwick cut the fea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen.

So fhalt thou finew both thefe lands together.
And having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rife again :
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz t' offend thine ears.
First, will I fee 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, fweet Warwick, let it be For on thy fhoulder do I build my feat:

And never will I undertake the thing,

Wherein thy counfel, and confent, is wanting..
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glo'ster ;
And George, of Clarence; Waravick as ourfelf
Shall do and undo, as him pleaseth beft.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George of Glo'fter

For Glofter's dukedom is too ominous. (14)

(14) For Glo'fter's dukedom is too ominous.] This paffage feems 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 cefter.

Fitz-dot. O, no; I'll none.

Meer-cr. Why, Sir?

Fitz-dat. 'Tis fatal.

Meer-cr. That you fay right in. Spencer, I think, the younger,

had his laft honour thence. But he was but an Earl.

Fitz-dot. I know not that, Sir: But Thomas of Woodstock, I'm fure, was Duke; and he was made away at Calice, as Duke Humphry was at Bury: And Richbard the Third, you know what end he came to. Meer-cr. By my faith, you're cunning in the chronicle, Sir. Fix-dot. No, I confess, I ha't from the play-books; and think, they're more authentick.

War

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation :

Richard, be Duke of Glo'fter: now to London,
To see these honours in poffeffion.

[Exeunt

ACT III.

SCENE, a Wood in Lancashire.

Enter Sinklo and Humphry, with cross-bows in their

UNd

hands.

SINKLO.

Nder this thick-grown brake we'll shroud 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 ftay above the hill, fo both may shoot.
Sink. That cannot be the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and fo my fhoot is loft:
Here ftand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time fhall not feem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a day,

In this felf-place where now we mean to ftand.
Hum. Here comes a man, let's ftay till he be past.
Enter King Henry, with a prayer-book.

K. Henry. From Scotland am I ftol'n even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wifhful fight:

No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,

Thy place is fill'd, thy fcepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm wafht off wherewith thou waft anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cafar now,
No humble fuitors prefs 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 feize upon him.

K. Henry