Queen. Enforc'd thee? art thou King, and wilt be forc'd? The Northern Lords, that have forfworn thy Colours, 'And utter ruin of the House of York, Thus do I leave thee; come Son, let's away, Our Army is ready, come, we'll after them. K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me fpeak. Queen Thou haft fpoke too much already; get thee gone. K. Henry, Gentle Son Edward, thou wilt ftay with me? Queen. Ay, to be murther'd by his Enemies. Prince. When return with Victory from the Field, I'll fee your Grace; 'till then I'll follow her. Queen. Come, Son, away, we may not linger thusi [Exeunt Queen and Prince K. Henry. Poor Queen, How love to me, and to her Son, Hath made her break out into terrns of Rage, Reveng'd Reveng'd may fhe be on that hateful Duke, Enter Richard, Edward, and Mountague." [Exi Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. Edw. No, I can better play the Orator. Mount. But I have Reasons ftrong and forcible. Enter the Duke of York. York. Why, how now Sons and Brother, at a strife? What is your Quarrel? how began it first? Edw. No Quarrel, but a flight Contention. York. About what? Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us, 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 Houfe of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will out-run you, Father, in the end. York. I took an Oath, that he fhould quietly Reign. Edw. But for a Kingdom any Oath may be broken: I would break a thousand Oaths to Reign one Year. Rich. No; God forbid your Grace fhould be forfwo York. I fhall be, if I claim by open War. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. York. Thou can'ft not, Son, it is impoffible. Rich. An Oath is of no moment, being not took That hath Authority over him that Swears. There Therefore to Arms: and, Father, do but think, And all that Poets feign of Blifs and Joy. You, Edward, fhall unto my Lord Cobham, But that I feek occafion how to rife? Enter Gabriel. But ftay, what News? why com'ft thou in fuch poft?" Gab. The Queen, With all the Northern Earls and Lords, What, think'ft thou that we fear them? Mount. Brother, I go: I'll win them, fear it not. And thus moft humbly I do take my leave. [Exit Mountague. Enter Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York, Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine Uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy Hour. The Army of the Queen means to befiege us. Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the Field. Tork. What, with five thousand Men? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, Father, for a need. A Woman's General; what fhould we fear? Edw. I hear their Drums: Let's set our Men in order, [4 March afar off And iffue forth, and bid them Battel freight. York. Five Men to twenty, though the odds be great, I doubt not, Uncle, of our Victory. Many a Battel have I won in France, When as the Enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like Succefs? Enter Rutland and his Tutor. [Alarm Exit Rut. Ah, whither fhall I flie, to fcape their Hands? Ah, Tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes. Enter Clifford. Clif. Chaplain, away, thy Priesthood faves thy Life;. As for the Brat of this accurfed Duke, Whose Father flew my Father, he fhall die. Tutor. And I, my Lord, will bear him Company. [Exit Tutor. Ah Clifford, murther not this innocent Child, Or is it fear that makes him close his Eyes? Rut. So looks the pent-up Lion o'er the Wretch, And fo he walks, infulting o'er his Prey, Ah, Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy Sword, Rut. Then let my Father's Blood open it again, Clif. Had I thy Brethren here, their Lives and thine No, if I digg'd up thy Fore-fathers Graves, And 'till I root out their accurfed Line, Death: Rut. O let me pray before I take my Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou flay me? Rut. But 'twas ere I was born: Thou haft one Son, for his fake pity me, Left in revenge thereof, fith God is just, He be as miferably flain as I. Ah, let me live in Prifon all my Days, And when I give occafion of Offence, Then let me die, for now thou haft no cause. Clif. No caufe? thy Father flew my Father, therefore die. And this thy Son's Blood cleaving to my Blade, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. Alarum |