Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false Frenchwoman. North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, 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, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: [He gives back the Handkerchief. And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears: Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 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. [Exeunt. VOL. VIII. ACT II. SCENE I.—A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. Drums. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching. Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ; And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; See how the morning opes her golden gates, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, And over-shine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns. 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 foretel Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. |