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York. I thank thee, Clifford : Say, what news with

Nay, do not fright us with an angry look:
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ;
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake ;
But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do :-
To Bedlam with him! is the man grown

mad? K. Hen. Ay, Clifford : a bedlam and ambitious hu


Makes him oppose himself against his king.

Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his.

Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons,


says, shall give their words for him.
York. Will you not, sons ?
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!

York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.-
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
That, with the very shaking of their chains,
They may astonish these fell lurking curs;
Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me.

Drums. Enter Warwick and SALISBURY, with Porces.

Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.

Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld ;

Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd:
And such a piece of service will you do,
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick.

Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.
K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgol to

bow ?
Old Salisbury,—shame to thy silver hair,
Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ?
0, where is faith? 0, where is loyalty ?
If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ?
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
And shame thine honourable age with blood ?
Why art thou old, and want'st experience ?
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me,
That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself
The title of this most renowned duke;
And in my conscience do repute his

grace The rightful heir to England's royal seat.

K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
Sal. I have.
K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an

Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin;

But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
Who can be bound by any solemn vow
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
To wring the widow from her custom'd right;
And have no other reason for this wrong,
But that he was bound by a solemn oath?

Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolv'd for death, or dignity.

Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

Clif. I am resolv’d to bear a greater storm,
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
(As on a mountain-top the cedar shows,
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,)
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear.

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels, and their 'complices.

Rich. Fye! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatick, that's more than thou canst

tell. Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.—Saint Albans.

Alarums : Excursions. Enter WARWICK. War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls ! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now,—when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

Enter YORK.
How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot?

York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed ;
But match to match I have encounter'd him,
And made a


for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.

War. Of one or both of us the time is come.

York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chace, For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

War. Then, nobly, York;'tis for a crown thou fightst.As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. [Erit WAR.

Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why dost thou

pause? York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason.

York. So let it help me now against thy sword,
As I in justice and true right express it!

Clif. My soul and body on the action both !--
York. A dreadful lay !-address thee instantly.

[They fight, and CLIFFORD falls. Clif. La fin couronne les oeuvres.

[Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art

still. Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit.

Enter Young CLIFFORD.
Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout;
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance !-Let no soldier fly:
He, that is truly dedicate to war,
Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself,
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.—0, let the vile world end,

[Seeing his dead Father.
And the premised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together!
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and petty sounds

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