A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
These famished beggars, weary of their lives,
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves.
If we be conquered, let men conquer us,

And not these bastard Bretons; whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped,

And on record, left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives?
Ravish our daughters ?-[Drum afar off] Hark!
I hear their drum.-

Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen !
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

Enter a Messenger.

What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power? Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come.

K. Rich. Off with his son George's head! Nor. My lord, the enemy is past the marsh : After the battle let George Stanley die.

K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:

Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Field.

Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and Forces fighting; to him CATESBY.

Cate. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger:

His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

Alarums. Enter King RICHARD.

K. Rich. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

Cate. Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die :

I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Another Part of the Field.

Alarum.

Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight. RICHARD is slain. Retreat and flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, STANLEY bearing the crown, with divers other Lords, and Forces. Richm. God and your arms be praised, victorious friends;

The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.

Lo, here, this long-usurpéd royalty

From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I plucked off, to grace thy brows withal:
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

Richm. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! But, tell me now, is young George Stanley living? Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town; Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. Richm. What men of name are slain on either side?

Stan. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord
Ferrers,

Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.
Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births:
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
That in submission will return to us:
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
We will unite the White Rose and the Red:
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
That long hath frowned upon their enmity!
What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarred herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughtered his own son,
The son, compelled, been butcher to the sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division,

O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, -God, if Thy will be so,-

Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Let them not live to taste this land's increase

That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!

Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say Amen!

[Exeunt.

THE TRUE TRAGEDIE OF RICHARD DUKE OF YORKE, AND THE GOOD KING HENRY THE SIXT.

War. Sore spent with toile as runners with the race,
I laie me downe a little while to breath,

For strokes receiude, and manie blowes repaide,
Hath robd my strong knit sinnews of their strength,
And force perforce needes must I rest my selfe.

Enter EDWARD.

Edw. Smile gentle heauens or strike vngentle death,
That we maie die vnlesse we gaine the daie:
What fatall starre malignant frownes from heauen
Vpon the harmelesse line of Yorkes true house?

Enter GEORGE.

George. Come brother, come lets to the field againe,

For yet theres hope inough to win the daie :

Then let vs backe to cheere our fainting Troupes,

Lest they retire now we haue left the field.

War. How now my lords: what hap, what hope of good?

Enter RICHARD running.

Rich. Ah Warwike, why hast thou withdrawne thy selfe ? Thy noble father in the thickest thronges,

Cride still for Warwike his thrise valiant son,

Vntill with thousand swords he was beset,
And manie wounds made in his aged brest,

And as he tottring sate vpon his steede,