It could not flake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The fight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my foul;
And 'till I root out their accurfed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore
[Lifting his hand.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:-

Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in To thee I pray; fweet Clifford, pity me!

1 This line is in Ovid's Epifle from Phillis to Demophoon.

the mother's fide, Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, 3 i. e. we failed or mifcarried again.

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to fuch mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, fhew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick.
York. My athes, as the phonix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:
And, in that hope, Ithrow mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no
further;

So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons;
So defperate thieves, all hopelcis of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

Made iffue from the bofom of the bor
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I fhould lament thy miferable ftate.

I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart fo parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear could fall for Rutland's death ?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should it be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may fing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I fee, to make me iport;
York cannot fpeak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York-and, lords, bow low to him.-
Hold you his hands, whilft I do fet it on. —

[Putting a paper crown in bis bead.
Ay, marry, fir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.—
But how it, that great Plantagenet

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time:
And, if thou canft for bluthing, view this face ;
And bite thy tongue, that flanders him with cow-Is crown'd fo foon, and broke his folemn oath?

ardice,

Whofe frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
Clif. I will not handy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

[Draws.

As I bethink me, you should not be king,
'Till our king Henry had fhook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath ?

Queen. Holl, valiant Clifford! for a thoufand O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !—

land.

[much,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life:- [caufes, Off with the crown; and,with the crown, his head; Wrath makes him deaf: fpeak thou, Northumber-And, whilft we breathe, take time to do him dead, Clif. That is my office, for my father's death. Queen. Nay, ftay; let's hear the orifons he makes. York. She-wolfof France, but worfe than wolves of France,

North. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him to
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart :
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thruft his hand between his teeth,
When he might ipurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages ;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles.
Clif. Ay,ay, to ftrives the woodcock with the gin.
North. So doth the coney (truggle in the net.
[York is taken prifoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd
booty!

So true men yield, with robbers fo o'er-match'd.
North. What would your grace have done unto
him now?
[berland,
Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northum-
Come make him ftand upon this mole-hill here;
That raught 2 at mountains with out-stretched arms,
Yet parted but the fhadow with his hand.-
What! was it you, that would be England's king?
Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent ?
Where are your mefs of fons, to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lufty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Whofe tongue more poifous than the adder's tooth!
How ill-befeeming is it in thy fex,

To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates !
But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would atlay, proud queen, to make thee bluth :
To tell thee whence thou cam'ft, of whom deriv'd,
Were thame enough to thame thee, wert thou
not thameless.

Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerufalem;
Yet not fo wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to infult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verify'd,———
That beggars, mounted, run their horfe to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy fhare thereof is imall:
Tis virtue, that doth make them moit admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at ;
'Tis government, that makes them feem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,

Or as the fouth to the septentrion.

Or, with the reft, where is your darling Rutland
Look, York; Iftain'd this napkin 3 with the bloodOh, tyger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide'
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,

How could't thou drain the life-blood of the child,

1 Or, noon-tide point on the dial. 2. c. that reach 2, raught being the ancient preterite and participle paffive of reach. 3 A napkin is a handkerchief.

et temper, and decency of manners.

4 Government here gullies evennefs

To

[curse;

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be feen to bear a woman's face?
Women are foft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorfelefs.
Bidft thou me rage? why, now thou haft thy with:
Wouldft have me weep? why, now thou haft thy
For raging wind blows up incefiant thowers, [will.
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
Thefe tears are my fweet Rutland's obfequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,-
'Gainit thee, feli Clifford,-and thee, falfe French-To fee how inly forrow gripes his foul.

Upon my foul, the hearers will fhed tears;
Yea, even my foe will thed fatt-falling tears,
And fay,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my
And, in thy need, fuch comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!——
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the wor
My foul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been flaughter-man to all my kin,
I thould not for my life but weep with him,

woman.

North. Bethrew me, but his paffions move me fo,
That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have ftain'd
with blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dft in blood of my fweet boy,
And lo! with tears I wath the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this :
[He gives back the handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'it the heavy ftory right,

Queen. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum
berland?

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.

[Stobbing him.

Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted

king. [Stabs him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God !→→→ My foul flies through these wounds to feek out thee. [Dies. Queen. Off with his head, and fet it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

I

SCENE I.

ACT II.

Near Mortimer's Crefs in Wales.
Amarch. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power.
Eday. Wonder, how our princely father 'fcap'd;
Or whether he be 'cap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's purfuit:
Had he been ta'en, we fhould have heard the news;
Had he been flain, we fhould have heard the news;
Or, had he 'scap`d, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good efcape.-
How fares our brother? why is he fo fad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be refolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I faw him in the battle range about ;
And watch'd him, how he fingled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickett troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;

Or as a bear, encompas'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The reft ftand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his fon.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewel of the glorious fun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a yonker, prancing to his love!

[fun;

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I fee three funs?
Rich. Three glorious funs, each one a perfect
Not feparated by the racking clouds 2,
But fever'd in a pale clear-fhining sky.
See, fee! they join, embrace, and teem to kifs,
As if they vow'd fome league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one fun.
In this the heaven figures fome event.

[heard of.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous ftrange, the like yet never
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the fons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds 3,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-fhine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair fhining funs.

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-by your
leave I fpeak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a

Mellinger.

But what art thou, whofe heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful itory hanging on thy tongue ?

Mej. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on,
When as the noble duke of York was flain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.

Edw. Oh, ipeak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich. Say how he dy'd, for I will hear it all.

1 i. e. honour enough. 2 Meaning, the clouds as they are driven by the winds; from racke, Belg. 3 i. e. Illuftrious and fhining by the armorial enfigns granted us as meeds or rewards of

a track.

Mef Environed he was with many foes;
And flood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many ftrokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was fubdu'd;
But only flaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high defpight;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks,
A napkin, fteep'd in the harmless blood
Of fweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford flain :
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They fet the fame; and there it doth remain,
The faddeft fpectacle that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon;
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay !—
Oh Clifford, boiftrous Clifford, thou haft flain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherouЛly haft thou vanquish'd him,
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquifh'd thee!--
Now my foul's palace is become a prifon :

Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as fwiftly as the pofts could run,
Were brought me of your lofs, and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Mufter'd my foldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought, [queen,
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the
Bearing the king in my behalf along:
For by my scouts I was advertised,
That he was coming with a full intent
To dafh our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your fucceffion.
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both fides fiercely fought;
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my foldiers of their heated fpleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her fuccefs;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives-blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ;
Our foldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,—
Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends.

Ah, would fhe break from hence! that this my body I cheer'd them up with justice of the cause,

Might in the ground be clofed up in reft:
For never henceforth fhall I joy again,
Never, O, never, fhall I fee more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce ferves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;
For felf-fame wind, that I fhould speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breaft, [quench.
And burn me up with flames, that tears would
To weep, is to make lefs the depth of grief:
Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge, for
me!

Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,
Or die renowned by attempting it.

[thee; Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Shew thy defcent by gazing 'gainst the fun:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom fay
Either that is thine, or elfe thou wert not his.
March. Enter Warwick, Marquis of Montague,
and their army.

;

War. How now, fair lords? What fare what news abroad? [count Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we fhould reOur baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Stab poniards in our flesh, 'till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the duke of York is flain.

Edw, O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly, as his foul's redemption,
Is by the ftern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd thefe news in tears:
And now, to add more meafure to your woes,
I come to tell you things fince then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

With promife of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled; the king, unto the queen ;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In hafte, poft-hafte, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again. [wick ?

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War
And when came George from Burgundy to En-
gland?
[power:
War. Some fix miles off the duke is with his
And for your brother, he was lately fent
From your kind aunt, dutchefs of Burgundy,
With aid of foldiers to this needful war.
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick
Oft have I heard his praifes in purfuit,
But ne'er, till now, his fcandal of retire.

[fled:

[hear;

War. Nor now my fcandal, Richard, doft thou
For thou fhalt know, this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful fcepter from his fift,
Were he as famous and as bold in war,
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame

me not;

'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me fpeak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or fhall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the laft, fay-Ay, and to it, lords. [you out;
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to feek
And therefore comes my brother Montague.

1 Done to death for killed, was a common expreffion long before Shakspeare's time.

Attend

Attend me, lords. The proud infulting queen,

I

With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And, of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the eafy-melting king like wax.
He fwore confent to your fucceffion,
His oath enrolled in the parliament:
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To fruftrate both his oath, and what befide
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong :
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welhmen canft procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thoufand,
Why, Via to London will we march amain;
And once again beftride our foaming fteeds,
And once again cry-Charge upon the foe!
But never once again turn back, and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great
wick fpeak:

To fee this fight, it irks my very foul.-
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have 1 infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity,
And harmful pity, muft be laid aside.
To whom do lions caft their gentle looks?
Not to the beaft that would ufurp their den.
Whofe hand is that, the foreft bear doth lick ?
Not his, that fpoils her young before her face.
Who 'fcapes the lurking ferpent's mortal iling?
Not he, that fets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
And doves will peck, in fafeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou fmiling, while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his fon a king,
And raife his iffae, like a loving fire;
Thou, being a king, bleft with a goodly son,
War-Didft yield confent to difinherit him,

Ne'er may he live to fee a fun-fhine day,
That cries-Retire, when Warwick bids him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy fhoulder will 1
lean;

And when thou fail'ft, (as God forbid the hour!)
Muft Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend !
War, No longer earl of March, but duke of
York;

The next degree is, England's royal king:
For king of England fhalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pafs along ;
And he, that cafts not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the offence make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But found the trumpets, and about our task.

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as fteel,

(As thou haft fhewn it flinty by thy deeds)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God, and Saint
George, for us!

Enter a Meffenger.

[me,

War. How now? what news?
Me. The duke of Norfolk fends you word by
The queen is coming with a puiffant hoft;
And craves your company for fpeedy counfel.
War. Why then it forts 2, brave warriors: Let's
away.

[Exeunt.

Which argued thee a moft unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not feen them (even with those wings
Which fometime they have us'd in fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their neft,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For fhame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy
Should lofe his birth-right by his father's fauit;
And long hereafter fay unto his child,—
"What my great-grandfather and grandfire got,
"My careless father fondly gave away ?”
Ah, what a fhame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promifeth
Successful fortune, fteel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him,
K. Hory. Full well hath Clifford play'd the

orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didit thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad fuccefs?
And happy always was it for that fon,
Whofe father for his hoarding went to hell 3 ?
I'll leave my fon my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the reft is held at fuch a rate,
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in poffeffion any jot of pleasure. [know,
Ah, coufin York! 'would thy best friends did
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Queen. My lord, cheer up your fpirits; our foes

1 i. e. high. 2 Meaning, Why then things are as they fhould be. 3 This alludes to the common proverb of "Happy the child whofe father went to the devil."

Rr 2

Glif.