SCENE III. Another part of the field. Flourish.

Enter KING EDWARD in triumph; with CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and the rest.

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,

And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious sun
Ere he attain his easeful western bed:
I mean, my lords, those powers that the
queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that
cloud,

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And blow it to the source from whence it came: Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; For every cloud engenders not a storm.

Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong,

And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her:
If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw. We are advértis'd by our loving friends

That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:

We, having now the best at Barnet field,

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Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;3 And, as we march, our strength will be augmented

SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers.

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard,

The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still: is 't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea,
And give more strength to that which hath
too much;

Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,

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Which industry and courage might have sav❜d? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? [And Montague our topmast; what of him? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?]

Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? [And Somerset another goodly mast?

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?]

And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep; But keep our course, though the rough wind

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Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out:
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen,
what I should say

My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. ]
Therefore, no more but this:-Henry, your
sov'reign,

Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice: then, in God's name,
lords,

Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

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[Exeunt both armies.

SCENE V. Another part of the same.

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and Forces; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners. K. Edw. Lo here a period of tumultuous broils.

Away with Oxford to Hammes Castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head.

Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with

words.

Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.

4 A period, an end.

{

Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!

Canst thou not speak?-O traitors! murderers!

They that stabb'd Cæsar shed no blood at all,
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
If this foul deed were by to equal it:
He was a man; this, in respect,2 a child,-
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may
name it?

No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak:And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.

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Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:

'Twas sin before, but now 't is charity. What, wilt thou not?-Where is that devil's butcher,

Hard-favour'd Richard?-Richard, where art thou?

Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back. K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

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SCENE VI. London. A room in the Tower. KING HENRY sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOSTER. Glo. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

3 Deathsmen, i.e. executioners. 4 Rid, made away with.

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord:-my lord, I should say rather;

Tis sin to flatter; "good" was little better: ["Good Gloster" and "good devil” were alike. And both preposterous; therefore, not "good lord."]

Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant.

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;

So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,

And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

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Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed1 in a bush,

With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;

And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught,
and kill'd.

Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of
Crete,

That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fowl was drown'd.

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K. Hen. [I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,

Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea, Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.] Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point

Than can my ears that tragic history. But wherefore dost thou come? is 't for my life?

Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 30 K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

1 Limed, i.e. trapped.

And many an orphan's water-standing eyeMen for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate,

And orphans for their parents' timeless death-]

Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth,-an evil sign; The night-crow3 cried, aboding+ luckless time; [Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;

The raven rook'd her5 on the chimney's top, And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung.] Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,—

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[An indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.] Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,

To signify thou cam'st to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou cam'st

Glo. I'll hear no more:-die, prophet, in thy speech: [Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.

O God, forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

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