Enter a Messenger. War. How now? what news? Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why then it sorts, brave warrriors: Let's away. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Before York. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the Prince of WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces. Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ; To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: My careless father fondly gave away? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,- And happy always was it for that son, Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; 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; queen hath best success when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our for The tune K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. 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, WAR- Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? 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, To blot out me, and put his own son in. Clif. And reason too; Who should succeed the father, but the son? Rich. Are you there, butcher?—O, I cannot speak! Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it 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? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's 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 valour, Clifford, drove me thence. North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently;- Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword: |