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Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me, sweet son;[me. The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd? [wretch! I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous 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;
Before I would have granted to that act.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.
K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field,
I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
[Exeunt Queen MARGARET, and the PRINCE. K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and
to her son,
Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;-
Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, und MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give
Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife?
What is your quarrel? how began it first? * Peck.
Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
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 [breathe, By giving the house of Lancaster leave to It will outrun you, father, in the end.
York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign.
Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken:
I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn.
York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear
York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible: Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not 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 dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,
Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st
Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER, York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!
Of sound judgement.
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
York. What, with five thousand men?
A woman's general; What should we fear?
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle.
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their
Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!
Enter CLIFFORD, and Soldiers.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
SCENE IV.-The same.
My uncles both are slain in rescuing ine;
Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
That trembles under his devouring paws:
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
[Lifting his hand.
Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut. But '(was ere I was born.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
BERLAND, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumber-
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no | Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me farther;
So doves do peck the falcon'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 bite thy tongue, that slanders him with
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. -
[Putting a paper Crown on his Heud.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thou-O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable!--
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life :Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
[They lay hands on YORK, who struggles.
So true men yield, with robbers so match'd.
North. What would your grace have done unto him now?
[dead.+ And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Q. Mar. 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
o'er-Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Q. Mur. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland,
Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.-
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Honest men. + Reached.
Unless the adage must be verified,
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
Impale, encircle with a crown. + Kill him. The distinguishing mark. Government, in the language of the time, signified evenness of temper, and decency of manuers. || The North.
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false French-woman.
North. Beshrew me, but his passions* move
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
Q. Mar. 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. Q. Mar. 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. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York.
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at nim.
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking clouds.+
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
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, When as 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. Environed 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;
SCENE I-A plain near MORTIMER's Cross in But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
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 would have heard the [news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the Or, had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
spight; [wept, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford 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
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!-
Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
* Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.
+ The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion. + Merit.
Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
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 renowned 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, 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, [tion, Which held thee dearly as his soul's redempIs by the stern lord Clifford done to death." War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Rich. "Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? 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?
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
And of their feather, many more proud birds,
Amongst the loving Welchmen canst procure,
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War
Ne'er may be live to see a sunshine day,