90

O, pity, God, this miserable age!-
What stratagems,1 how fell,2 how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
[O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!]
K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than
common grief!

O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!

O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: [The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheek, methinks, presenteth:3]

100

L. Sol. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit with the body.

Y. Sol. These arms of mine shall be thy
winding-sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,—
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
[My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
E'en for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.]
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that
will,

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For I have murder'd where I should not kill. [Exit with the body.

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone? with care,

Here sits a king more woeful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards
Berwick post amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds

40

And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans, and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.3

Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,

If friend or foe, let him be gently us❜d.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 't is Clifford;

Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murd'ring knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,

I mean our princely father, Duke of York. 50 War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;

Instead whereof let this supply the room:
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, 5

That nothing sung but death to us and ours: [Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning

And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. Rich. O would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth:

'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. Geo. If so thou think'st, 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. Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

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come;

[And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer.]

Sec. Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

First Keep. 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.

10

20

No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,]
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?
First Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's

a keeper's fee:

This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. K. Hen. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity;

For wise men say it is the wisest course. Sec. Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

First Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France for aid;

And, as I hear, the great-commanding Warwick

Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister

To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator,

30

And Louis a prince soon won with moving words.

[By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
For she's a woman to be pitied much:
Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 6 40
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.

5 Quondam king, i.e. former king. Tainted with remorse, touched with pity.