Or as thy father, and his father, did,

Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds;
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint :—
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
I stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints.

Alarum and Retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us

pause,

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.—
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ;—
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, filled with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.—
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;

4

And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

[CLIFFORD groans, and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently used.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root

From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,

I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there : Instead whereof, let this supply the room;

Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

:

[Attendants bring the Body forward. War. I think his understanding is bereft :Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps he doth; 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts

Which in the time of death he gave our father.

Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou wast

wont.

Rich. What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes

hard,

When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath :-
I know by that he's dead; And, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy two hours' life,

That I in all despite might rail at him,

This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst

York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.-
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen:

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;

For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,

Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.

First, will I see the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be:

For on thy shoulder do I build my seat:

And never will I undertake the thing,

Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.-
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster;-
And George, of Clarence ;-Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster; For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation;

Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-A Chace in the North of England.

Enter Two Keepers, with Cross-bows in their hands.
1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud
ourselves;

For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,

Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot, 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,

In this self-same place, where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter King HENRY, disguised, with a Prayer-book.
K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;

Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed:

No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,

No humble suitors press to speak for right,