6 My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; 'Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced them: But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas! And spend her strength with over-matching [A short alarum within. waves. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; 'And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: 'And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd, that make up my life; 'Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers. Come, bloody bloody Clifford, -rough Northumberland, 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 such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. 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 further; So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: * And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow ardice, '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. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes, I would prolong a-while the traitor's life:- land. 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. [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? Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland, Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. * What! was it you, that would be England's king? That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York; [Putting a paper crown on his head. But how is it, that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!— York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, 'Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates? But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verify'd,— 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 the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? |