And disinherited thine only son. Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me. If you be king, why should not I succeed? K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforc'd me. Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah! timorous wretch; Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais ; The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours And utter ruin of the house of York. K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt Queen MARGARET and the Prince of WALES. K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage. Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son ! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin; you shall be the messenger. Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK. York. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. York. About what? Rich. About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not till King Henry be dead. Rich. Your right depends not on his life or death. Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. Rich. No; God forbid your grace should be for sworn. York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took That hath authority over him that swears: York. Richard, enough: I will be king, or die. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Enter a Messenger, But, stay: what news? why com'st thou in such post? She is hard by with twenty thousand men, York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH Mortimer. Exit. York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Sir John. She shall not need, we 'll meet her in the field. York. What! with five thousand men? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off. Edw. I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt. SCENE III.-Field of Battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor. Rut. Ah! whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah! tutor, look, where bloody Clifford comes. Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers. Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Tut. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. Exit, forced off by Soldiers. Clif. How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch |