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And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick P
Not his that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ;
‘And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows;
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, blessed with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
“Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ;
And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
* Which sometime they have used with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climbed unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence P
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,—
What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly' gave away?
Ah, what a shame were this Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford played the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
“But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success P
And happy always was it for that son,

1 Foolishly.

Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ?”
I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would my father had left me no more
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
“As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
* Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know,
‘How it doth grieve me that thy head is here !
* Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes
- are nigh, -
‘And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
‘You promised knighthood to our forward son:
“Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.—
Edward, kneel down. -
R. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson, Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown, .
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness; * For, with a band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; And, in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. * Darraign your battle,” for they are at hand. Clif. I would your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent.” Q. Mar. Ay, good mylord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

1 The king quotes two proverbs; the one—“Ill-gotten goods never prosper;” the other—“Happy the child whose father went to the devil.”

2 i. e. arrange your host. Darraign is used by Chaucer, Skelton, and Spenser.

3 “Happy was the queene in her two battayls, but unfortunate was the king in all his enterprises; for where his person was present the victorie fledde ever from him to the other parte.”—Hall's Chronicle. Henry VI. fol. c. Drayton has enlarged upon this superstitious belief, in his Miseries of Queen Margaret.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight.

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheath your sword, good father ; cry, Saint George /

March. Enter Edward, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARwick, NoFFolk, MonTAGUE, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now, perjured Henry ! wilt thou kneel for race, 3. ‘And set thy diadem upon my head; * Or bide the mortal fortune of the field P Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud, insulting boy! * Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, * Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent; Since when, his oath is broke;" for, as I hear, You—that are king, though he do wear the crown— Have caused him, by new act of parliament, • To blot out me, and put his own son in. * Clif. And reason too; Who should succeed the father, but the son P Rich. Are you there, butcher ?—O, I cannot speak! Clif Ay, crookback; here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it 4 not? . Clif Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown f

1 Edward's argument is founded on an article said to have been in the compact between Henry and the duke of York: “That if the king did closely or apertly studye or go about to compass or imagine the death or destruction of the sayde duke or his blood, then he to forfel the crowne, and the duke of Yorke to take it.”—Hall. If this had been one of the articles of the compact, the duke having been killed at Wakefield, his eldest son would now have a title to the crown; but Malone doubts whether it ever made part of that agreement. The Poet followed Hall.


vol. IV.

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick P dare you speakf When you and I met at St. Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis thine. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valor, Clifford, drove me thence. * North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. • Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.— Break off the parle ; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swollen heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father: call’st thou him a child P Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; But, ere sunset, I’ll make thee curse the deed. R. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Defy them, then, or else hold close thy lips. R. Ho" pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue, I am a king, and privileged to speak. Clif My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword. By him that made us all, I am resolved," * That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. * Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armor on. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, There is song, but every thing is right.

1 It is my firm persuasion.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; But like a foul, misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the destinies to be avoided, * As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, (As if a channel" should be called the sea,) * Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. A wisp of straw” were worth a thousand croWITS, To make this shameless callet know herself— * Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, * Although thy husband may be Menelaus; *And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wronged * By that false woman, as this king by thee. * His father revelled in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And, had he matched according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But, when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day, * Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him, * That washed his father's fortunes forth of France, And heaped sedition on his crown at home. * For what hath broached this tumult, but thy pride P Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipped our claim until another age. * Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy


1 A channel in the Poet's time signified what we now call a kennel, which word is still pronounced channel in the north. .

2 A wisp of straw was often applied as a mark of opprobrium to an immodest woman, a scold, or similar offenders. A callet was a lewd woman,

but a term often given to a scold.

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