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War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on.
Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
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 stigmatick, Mark'd 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 call'd 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 crowns, 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 wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell’d in the heart of France, And tam’d the king, and made the Dauphin stoop; And, had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day: But, when he took a beggar to his bed, And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day; Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Geo. But when waşaw our sunshine made thy spring,
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.
Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [Ereunt.
SCENE III.- A Field of Battle between Towton and Sax
ton in Yorkshire.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK.
Enter EDWARD, running. Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter RICHARD. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: And, in the very pangs of death, he cried, Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! So underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. ·
Geo. Yet let us altogether to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars, that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games : This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; For yet is hope of life, and victory. Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.— The same. Another Part of the Field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and CLIFFORD.
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. This is the band, that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother, To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee.
[They fight. WARWICK enters ; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.- Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter King Henry. K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; Now, one the better; then, another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : So is the equal poise of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory!