fend!

Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ;

To see this sight, it irks my very soul.-
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Not wittingly have I infringed my vow.
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their

brood.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, blessed with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most 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 seen them (even with those
wings
flight,)
Which sometime they have used with fearful
Make war with him that climb'd unto their
nest,
[fence?
Offering their own lives in their young's de-
For shame, my liege, make them your prece-
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy [dent!

Why then things are as they should be.

And long hereafter say unto his child,-
What my great-grandfather and grand-sire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth,
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with
him.

K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,-
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did
know,

How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits! Our
foes are nigh,
[faint.
And this soft courage makes your followers
You promised knighthood to our forward son;
Unsheath your sword, and dub him present-
Edward, kneel down.
[ly-

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right.

[leave

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

lords,

And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry St. George!

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now, perjured Henry! Wilt thou kneel And set thy diadem upon my head; for grace, Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Q. Mar. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his I was adopted heir by his consent: [knee; Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,

* Foolishly.

† 1. e. Arrange your host, put your host in order.

was it not?

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

Q. Mar. Why, how now long-tongued Warwick? Dare you speak?

When you and I met at St. Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
thine.

Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled.

War. "Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

North. No, nor your manhood, that durst

make you stay.

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reve-
rently!-

Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swollen heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. I slew thy father: call'st thou him a
child?

Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous
coward,

As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my I am a king, and privileged to speak. [tongue; Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,

Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.
Rich. Then executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolved,*
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or
no?

A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the

crown.

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 stigmatic,
Mark'd by the destiniest to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,+

It is my firm persuasion.

+ One branded by nature.

Gilt is a superficial covering of gold.

Whose father bears the title of a king, (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) Shamest 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 callett 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 tamed 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 graced thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for
him,
[France,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made

thy spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root: [selves,
And though the edge hath something hit our-
Yet, know thou since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee
down,

Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.—
Sound trumpets!-Let our bloody colours

wave!

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, [lance: Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's 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 closed 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 ny kuce rise from the earth's cold
face,
[thee,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands,
That to my foes this body must be prey,-
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand;—and gen-
tle Warwick,

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:-
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords,

farewell.

brother,

To execute the like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee.

[They fight-WARWICK enters; Clifford kies. 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 mors-
When dying clouds contend with growing
ing's war,
[light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his naus,
Can neither call it perfect day, or night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea,
Forced to retire by fury of the wind: [wind;
Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
So is the equal poise of the fell war.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret, my queen, and Clifford too,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
Would I were dead! if God's good will were

so:

For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I cóptemplate;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece:

Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his
master;

And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.-
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!-
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words till they have flow'd their
fill.

K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!

Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for

tear:

And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief.

Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep
my fill.
[Exit with the Body.
Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind-
ing sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. [will,
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
[Exit with the Body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone
with care,

Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums: Excursions.--Enter Queen MARGA-
RET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.
Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends
are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Ber-
wick post amain;
[hounds,
Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey-
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,

the Body in his Arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly had resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with a hundred blows.But let me see :-Is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!

O, pity, God, this miserable age!-
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!-
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
K. Hen. Woe above woe! Grief more than
common grief!
[deeds!-
O, that my death would stay these ruthful
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity;-
'The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other, his pale cheek, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's
death,

Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them:

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter;

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-The same.

A loud Alarum.-Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it

dies,

Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.
O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
thee;
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud
York,

The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
And who shines now, but Henry's enemies?
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings
should do,

Or as thy father, and his father, did,

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 make robbers bold, but too much [wounds;

lenity?

Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For, at their hands, I have deserved no pity;
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:

[rest; Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the I stabb'd your fathers' 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, [looks.And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen; That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd 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; 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 this fatal screech-owl to

our house,

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 "Tis but his policy to counterfeit, [doth; 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.

Sour words, words of asperity.

Rich. What, not an oath? world goes hard,

Nay, then the [oath:When Clifford cannot spare his friends an 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 is suing blood

Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the trator'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 seab
France,

And ask the lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt t
dread

The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to burt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;

And then to Britanny I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, le

it be:

SCENE 1.-A Chase 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; [come: For through this laund+ anon the deer will 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-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 Prayerbook.

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stolen, 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: