« AnteriorContinuar »
* K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city
gates, • Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee? · Call Edward-king, and at his hands beg mercy, • And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
· War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and plucked thee down? Call Warwick-patron, and be penitent, And thou snalt still remain the duke of York. Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said—the
king; Or did he make the jest against his will ?
* War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?
Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give ; * I'll do thee service for so good a gift.
* War. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's
K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's pris
• And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,What is the body, when the head is off?
• Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, • The king was slyly fingered from the deck! You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. * Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,
kneel down. * Nay, when ? 4 strike now, or else the iron cools.
* War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
1 That is, enroll myself among thy dependents.
2 A pack of cards was anciently termed a deck of cards, or a pair of cards.
3 The palace of the bishop of London.
* And with the other fling it at thy face, * Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. * K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend
1; * This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, * Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off
, * Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.
Enter OXFORD, with drum and colors. * War. O, cheerful colors ! see, where Oxford comes! Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster !
[OXFORD and his Forces enter the city. • Glo. The gates are open ; let us enter too. · K. Edw. Šo other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt, * Will issue out again, and bid us battle ; • If not, the city, being but of small defence, We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. War. "O, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.
Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colors. Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
[He and his Forces enter the city. · Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this
treason · Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
* K. Edw. The harder matched, the greater victory; * My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest.
Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colors. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
[He and his Forces enter the city. Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset,
1 The first of these noblemen was Edmund, slain at the battle of St. Albans, 1455. The second was Henry, his son, beheaded after the battle of Hexham, 1463. The present duke, Edmund, brother to Henry, was taken prisoner at Tewksbury, 1471, and there beheaded; his brother John losing his life in the same fight.
Have sold their lives unto the house of York ;
Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colors. War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps
along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; * With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, * More than the nature of a brother's love. * Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this means;
[Taking the red rose out of his cap. · Look here, I throw my infamy at thee. I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave
his blood to lime1 the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt,” unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war · Against his brother, and his lawful king ?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath : * To keep that oath, were more impiety * Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daughter. *I
am so sorry for my trespass made, * That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, * I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; * With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, * (As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) * To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.— • Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will
, henceforth be no more unconstant. K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more · Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brotherlike. War. O, passing traitor, perjured, and unjust! K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town,
beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
1 i. e. to cement.
2 i. e. stupid.
War. Alas, I am not cooped here for defence.
K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads
Lords, to the field. Saint George, and victory.
SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet.
Alarums and Excursions. Enter King EDWARD,
bringing in Warwick, wounded. * K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our
fear; For Warwick was a bug,' that feared us all.-* Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, * That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company.
[Exit. War. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ? Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my
foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept ; Whose top-branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree, * And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. * These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black
veil, * Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
1 Warwick was the bugbear that frightened us all.
* To search the secret treasons of the world.
Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, * We might recover all our loss again! The queen from France hath brought a puissant
power; • Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!
· War. Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Montague, * If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, * And with thy lips keep in my soul a while ! * Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold, congealed blood, * That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. * Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his
. And, to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, · And said-Commend me to my valiant brother. • And more he would have said; and more he spoke, - Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, • That might not be distinguished; but, at last,
I well might hear delivered with a groan• 0, farewell, Warwick! War.
Sweet rest to his soul !
1 The old play has this line :
6 Which sounded like a clamor in a vault."