That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept ; Whose top branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world:
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body's length! Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we
We might recover all our loss again!
The queen from France hath brought a puissant
Even now we heard the news: Ah, couldst thou fly!
War. Why, then I would not fly.-Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, 150 That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his
And to the latest gasp, cry'd out for Warwick, And said-Commend me to my valiant brother. And more he would have said; and more he spoke, Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, That could not be distinguish'd; but, at last, I well might hear deliver'd with a groan- O, farewel, Warwick!
War. Sweet rest his soul!—
Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids You all farewel, to meet in heaven.
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! {They bear
away his Body, and Exeunt.
Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD in Triumph; with GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and the Rest.
K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, Ere he attain his easeful western bed: 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.
Glo. The queen is valu'd 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 towards Tewksbury: We, having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight, For willingness rids way; And as we march our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the drum; cry-Courage! and away.
Tewksbury. March. Enter the Queen, Prince of WALES, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers.
Queen. 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 over-board, The cable broke, our 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 top-mast; What of him? Our slaughter'd 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 tacklings? 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 quick-sand of deceit ? And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis 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, In 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, Twere 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 courage! And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.Oh, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather
« AnteriorContinuar » |