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What is your quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No quarrel, but a sweet contention.
York. About what?
[and us;
Rich. About that which concerns your grace
The crown of England, father, which is yours.
York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead.
Rich. Your right depends not on his life or death.
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
It will out-run you, father, in the end.
York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be



The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.
Queen. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt
be forc'd?

I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;
And given unto the house of York such head,
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre,
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas;
The duke is made protector of the realm:
And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my son is disinherited.

The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread: 25
And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do I leave thee :-Come, son, let's away
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 30
[thee gone.
Queen. Thou hast spoke too much already; get
K. Henry. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay
with me?

I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be



York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.

Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me

York. Thou can'st not, son; it is impossible.
Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate,
That hath authority over him that swears:
Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms: And, father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.—
Thou, Richard, shalt to the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty, and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.—
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
But that I seek occasion how to rise;


And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
Enter a Messenger.


Queen. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory fromthefield,
I'll see your grace: 'till then, I'll follow her.
Queen. Come, son, away; we may not linger
[Exeunt Queen and Prince.
K. Henry. Poor queen! how love to me, and to 40


her son,

Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will coast my crown', and, like an empty eagle, 45
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son!
The loss of those three lords' torments my heart:
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;—
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.




Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.
Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me

Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter the Duke of York.
York. Why, how now, sons, and brother, at a


But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such
Gab. The queen, with all the northern earls and
Intend here to besiege you in your castle :
She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st
thou, that we fear them?-
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;-
My brother Montague shall post to London;
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths,
Mont, Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:

1i. e. hover over or range about my crown. talons, from the French tirer; or to peck.

2 To tire may either mean to fasten, to fix the ' viz. Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Clifford,

* Meaning, that the argument of their dispute was upon a grateful topic, viz. the question of their father's immediate right to the crown.

Witty would here seem to incan, of sound judgement.


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A Field of Battle, betwixt Sandal Castle and

It could not slake mine ire, nor case my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And 'till I root out their accursed line,
5 And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

[Lifting his hand. Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

Clif Such pity as my rapier's point affords. [me?
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay
Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

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Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,--
15 He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause !

20 Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut. 'Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ !

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! 25 And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, 'till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

Enter Rutland, and his Tutor.

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly, to 'scape their hands! Ah, tutor! look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter Clifford and Soldiers.


Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy
As for the brat of this accursed duke,- [life.
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tutor. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 35
Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence per-



Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York.
York. The army of the queen hath got the field:
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons-God knows what hath bechanced them:
But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cry'd-Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
45 And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richardcry'd-Charge! and give no foct of ground!
And cry'd—A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
50 We bodg'd' again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,


And spend her strength with over-matching
[A short alarum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland,
and Soldiers.
Come,bloody Clifford,—rough Northumberland,


Tutor. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent
Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, dragg'd off
Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is
That makes him close his eyes?—I'll open them.
Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey:
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.-
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;-
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my
ther's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 55
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. [thine,
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and
Were not revenge sufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,




This line is in Ovid's Epistle from Phillis to Demophoon. 2 These were two bastard uncles by the mother's side, Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. ? i, e. we failed or miscarried again.

I dare

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Chif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, shew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick'.
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no

Made issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.




pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear could fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient,man? thou should'st be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.-
A crown for York;-and, lords, bow low to him.-
15 Hold up his hands, whilst I do set it on.—
[Putting a paper crown on his head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-
20 But how is it, that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,


Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!—
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's death.
Queen. Nay,stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.
York. She-wolf of France,but worse than wolves
of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
35 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,

To triumph, like an Amazonían trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates!
But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou
not shameless.
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,

So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons:
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time:
And, if thou can'st for blushing, view this face;
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow-
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word;|
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford for a thousand
I would prolong a while the traitor's life:-[causes,
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northum-
[much, 30
North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles. Clif.Ay,ay,so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 40 [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty!

So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd.
North. What would your grace have done unto 45 Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;

Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verify'd,—

him now?
Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum-
Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here;
That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.—
What! was it you, that would be England's king?|
Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons, to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin 3 with the blood 60 Oh, tyger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, How could'st thou dram the life-blood of the child,

That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at; 55 "Tis government, that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good, As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion.

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1 Or, noon-tide point on the dial. 2i. e. that reach'd, raught being the ancient preterite and participle passive of reach. 3A napkin is a handkerchief. Government here signifies evenness of temper, and decency of manners.


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To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, [will.
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death.-
'Gainst thee,fell Clifford,-and thee, false French-

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Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foe will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!-
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
101 should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Queen. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum-



Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's
[Stabbing him.
Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted
[Stabs him.
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!-
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out
Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York.






Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales.

A march. Enter Edward, Richard,and their power.
Edw. I
Wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd;
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:
Had he been ta'en,we should have heard the news; 40
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares our brother? why is he so sad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become..
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize' enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a yonker, prancing to his love!

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Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect
Not separated by the racking clouds', [sun;
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event. [heard of.

Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
45 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-by your
leave I speak it,


You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mes. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.


Edw. Oh, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.



1 i. e. honour enough. 2 Meaning, the clouds as they are driven by the winds; from racke, Belg. a track. i. e. illustrious and shining by the armorial ensigns granted us as meeds or rewards of our great exploits.




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wege thy death,

Aath leit withi

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ether 'twas report of her success;
more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
so thunders to his captives-blood and death,
Cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,


Per weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'-like the night owl's lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of the cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
ture 30/So that we fled; the king, unto the queen;
heart: Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
བ¥ སྐོར་ཅི་གན་བར་དེར་th;
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
***** Mahal,
AYMI. qucuch
Making another head to fight again. [wick?
sex would 35
Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War-
And when came George from Burgundy to Eng-
vad ve gue!:
MI we wage, for

War. Some six miles off the duke is with his

And for your brother, he was lately sent
thee;40From your kind aunt, dutchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

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Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
ngs, as swiftly as the post could run,
brought me of your loss, and his depart.
Þher in London, keeper of the king,
Mastre"a my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
Sunat very well appointed, as I thought, [queen,
Buren 2ands Saint Alban's to intercept the

caring the king in my behalf along: Foe vi my scouts I was advertised,

ak She was coming with a full intent
y has our late decree in parliament,
Ang &ng Henry's oath, and your succession.
ee to make, we at Saint Alban's met,
actes join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:

ter 'twas the coldness of the king,
ad full gently on his warlike queen,
o'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;


Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ae'er, till now, his scandal of retire. [hear;
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
Were he as famous and as bold in war,

0 As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame

me not:

Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
53/Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
60 If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords. [you out;
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
And therefore comes my brother Montague.

ich fin kalles, was a common expression long before Shakspeare's time.


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