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I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that

cloud And blow it to the source from whence it came. The very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm. Glou. The Queen is valued thirty thousand

strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd Her faction will be full as strong as ours. K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving

friends That they do hold their course toward Tewks

bury. We, having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be aug

mented In every county as we go along: Strike up the drum! Cry, Courage!” and away.

(Exeunt. (SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury.] March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and soldiers. Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and

wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood ? Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too

much, Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav'd ? Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that ? And Montague our topmast; what of him ? Our slaught'red friends the tackles; what of

these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tac

klings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge ? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind

say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with

wreck. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say you can swim ; alas, 't is but a while ! Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly

sink. Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,

Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would fly from us.
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the

brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands and

rocks. Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided 'T were childish weakness to lament or fear. Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant

spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these

words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this as doubting any here; For did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here - as God forbid !, Let him depart before we need his help. Oxf. Women and children of so high a cour

age, And warriors faint! Why, 't were perpetual

shame. O brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee. Long may'st thou live To bear his image and renew his glories! Som. And he that will not fight for such a

hope Go bome to bed, and like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wond'red at. Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; sweet

Oxford, thanks. Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

Enter a MESSENGER. Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at

hand, Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

Oxf. I thought no less. It is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

Som. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness. Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your

forwardness. Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will

not budge. Flourish and march. Enter KING EDWARD,

GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers. K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the

thorny wood, Which, by the heavens' assistance and your

strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out. Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords ! Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen,

what I should say My tears gainsay; for, every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of my eye. Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your

sovereign Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd.

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Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would

not do it? Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear

thyself; 'T was sin before, but now 't is charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's

butcher, Richard, Hard-favour'd Richard ? Richard, where art

thou? Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed ; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 80 K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear

her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to

this prince! |Exit (led out forcibly). K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ? Clar. To London, all in post; and, as I

guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in

his head. Now march we hence. Discharge the common

sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to LonAnd see our gentle queen how well she fares. By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.

(Exeunt. (SCENE VI. London. The Tower.] Enter King HENRY and GLOUCESTER, with the

Lieutenant, on the walls. Glou. Good day, my lord. What, at your

book so hard? K. Hen. Ay, my good lord:-my lord, I

should say rather. 'Tis sin to flatter; good” was little better. "Good Gloucester" and " good devil ” were

alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not " good

lord. Glou. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves. We must confer.

(Exit Lieutenant. K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from

the wolf; So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty

mind. The thief doth fear each bush an officer. K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a

bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush ; And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught,

and kill'd. Glou. Why, what a peevish fool was that of

Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fool was

drown'd. K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus ; Thy father, Minos, that deni'd our course; The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,

Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. *
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost thou come? Is 't for my

life?
Glou. Think'st thou I am an executioner?
K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art.
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Glou. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first

thou didst presume, Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, And many an old man's sigh and many a

widow's, And many an orphan's waterstanding eye Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, And orphans for their parents' timeless death Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; e Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down

trees; The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother's

hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast

born, To signify thou cam'st to bite the world; And, if the rest be true which I have heard, s Thou cam'st Glou. I'll hear no more ; die, prophet, in thy speech.

I Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slanghter

after this. 0, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

(Dies. Glou. What, will the aspiring blood of Lan

caster Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have

mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's

death! O, may such purple tears be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our

house ! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither,

(Stabs him again, I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 't is true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward. Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd and the women cried, “0, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth! And so I was; which plainly signified

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That I should snarl and bite and play the Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body

SO, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word “ love," which grey beards call

divine, Be resident in men like one another And not in me. I am myself alone. Clarence, beware! Thou keep'st me from the

light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ; For I will buzz abroad such prophecies That Edward shall be fearful of his life, And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry and the Prince his son are gone. Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, so Counting myself but bad till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

(Erit (with the body). (SCENE VII. London. The palace.] Flourish. King EDWARD, (upon the throne ;]

QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCES-
Ter, HASTINGS, a Nurse (with the young
Prince.,) and Attendants.
K. Edw. Once more sit in England's

royal throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride !
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'do
For hardy and undoubted champions ;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's

sound; With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and

Montague, That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat And made our footstool of security.

Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 15 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself Have in our armours watch'd the winter's

night, Went als afoot in summer's scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 20 Glou. (Aside.] l'U blast his harvest, if your

head were laid, For yet I am not look'd on in the world. This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave; And heave it shall some weight, or break my

back. Work thou the way, - and thou shalt execute. K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, love my

lovely queen ; And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. [Q. Eliz.) Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy

brother, thanks. Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence

thou sprang'st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. (Aside.) To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his

master, And cried, “ All hail !" when as he meant all

harm. K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul de

lights, Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. Clar. What will your Grace have done with

Margaret? Reignier, her father, to the King of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 40 K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence

to France. And now what rests but that we spend the

time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befits the pleasure of the court ? Sound drums and trumpets ! Farewell sour

annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

(Exeunt.

we

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