Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, With this we charg'd again: but, out, alas!* 420 And spend her strength with over-matching waves. [A short Alarum within. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: 430 Enter the Queen, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford-rough NorthumberlandI 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 such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, shew'd unto my father. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noon-tide prick. 440 York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all : And, in that hope, I throw 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 fur ther; So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons; York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, dice, Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [Draws. Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand causes, I would prolong a while the traitor's life : Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber land. North. North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 460 [They lay Hands on YORK, who struggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [YORK is taken Prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now? Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumber land, 470 Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here; Or, 490 Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? 500 [Putting a Paper Crown on his Head. Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?. 'Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 510 Off Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. Clif. That is my office, for my father's death. Queen. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, 520 I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush : Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem; Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 530 That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government, that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable : Thou art as opposite to every good, As |