Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

[Giving back the handkerchief.

And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, Alas, it was a piteous deed!

There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;

[Giving back the paper crown.

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,

I should not for my life but weep with him,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Queen. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? 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 death.

[Stabbing him.

Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King.

[Stabbing him.

York. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. [Dies. Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Hereford

shire.

Drums. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching.

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no

From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit :

Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-

How fares my brother? why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
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 ; 1
t;

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 fared 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,

1 Neat properly means horned cattle; from a Saxon word signifying to butt or strike with the horn. Still used so in neat's-tallow" and "neat'soil."

And takes her farewell of the glorious Sun !2
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking 3 clouds, vaporum

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.4

Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,5

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.

2 Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the Sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.

"

3 Racking is moving like vapour or smoke. The original of the word is reek. Rack, noun, however, formerly meant the highest and therefore lightest clouds; and perhaps the verb is here used in the sense of the noun. So, in Antony and Cleopatra, iv. 12: That, which is now a horse, even with a thought the rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct." And in Beaumont and Fletcher's Women Pleased, iv. 2: “Far swifter than the sailing rack that gallops upon the wings of angry winds."

+ The battle of Mortimer's Cross took place February 2, 1461, and the event of the text is spoken of by the chroniclers as having happened on the morning of that day: "At which time the sunne, as some write, appeared to the earl of March like three sunnes, and suddenlie joined altogither in one. Upon which sight he tooke such courage, that he fiercelie setting on his enimies put them to flight and for this cause men imagined, that he gave the sunne in his full brightness for his badge or cognizance."

5 Meed formerly signified merit as well as reward, and is so explained by Cotgrave, Phillips, and others.

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 thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain,
Your princely father and my loving lord!

Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environèd he was with many foes;
And stood against them as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

By many hands your father was subdued;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,

Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain :
And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!—
O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain

6" The hope of Troy" was Hector.

The flower of Europe for his chivalry;

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee !—
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :

Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
Might in the ground be closèd up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy!

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;
For selfsame wind that I should speak withal

Is kindling coals that fire all my breast,

And burn me up with flames that tears would quench.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me!—
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,
Or die renownèd by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the Sun:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with Forces.

War. How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain !

Edw. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption,