Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with

thee;

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with their
Army3.

War. How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance, Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O, valiant lord! the duke of York is slain.

Edw. O, Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things sith then befallen.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.
I, then in London, keeper of the king,

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends',

3 · with their Army.] We prefer the old stage-directions when they can be used, because they are such as, very possibly, Shakespeare inserted: there seems no reason for substituting, as modern editors have done, "with Forces" for "with their Army," which is just as intelligible. In the same way, and for the same reason, we have preferred, at the opening of this scene," with their Power" to "with their Forces."

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,] After this line, modern editors have added another, from "The True Tragedy:"

"And very well appointed, as I thought,"

which is not at all necessary to the sense. If we were to adopt this line into the text, we should have no excuse for not inserting many more from the old

March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
Bearing the king in my behalf along;
For by my scouts I was advertised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,

Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make,-we at Saint Alban's met;
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought;
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen,
Or whether 'twas report of her success,
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went:
Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards,
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we in them no hope to win the day;
So that we fled: the king unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

4to., not found in the folio, 1623, which we may presume were rejected by Shakespeare, when he made his alterations in, and additions to "The True Tragedy." - of their HEATED spleen,] So all the old copies, including "The True Tragedy," where the line is found. Modern editors seem to have thought hated

a better epithet than "heated." Shakespeare was of a different opinion. 6 Who thunders to his CAPTIVES blood and death,] "The True Tragedy," has captains for "captives." We, of course, adhere to the text of the folio. Lower down, the quarto has idle thrasher for "lazy thrasher," which certainly avoids an awkward repetition of the same word.

And when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some six miles off the duke is with the sol

diers;

And for your brother, he was lately sent

From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,

With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled :

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;

For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,

Were he as famous, and as bold in war,

As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,

And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;

And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside

May make against the house of Lancaster:
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,

With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain',
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry-Charge! upon our foes!
But never once again turn back, and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak.

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,

That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
And when thou fail'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!
War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York:
The next degree is, England's royal throne;
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;

And he that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,―Montague,—
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Edw. Then strike up, drums !-God, and Saint George, for us!

7 Why, Via! to London will we march AMAIN,] "Amain" is derived from "The True Tragedy," 1595, though none of the modern editors notice it. The line is incomplete without "amain," and the quarto and folio in other respects so nearly correspond, in this part of the scene, that we may conclude the word dropped out in the press at the end of the line.

8 And when thou FAIL'ST,] So the folio, 1623, and the other folios: the quarto "True Tragedy," faint'st. Malone reads fall'st.

Enter a Messenger.

War. How now! what news?

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host,

And craves your company for speedy counsel.

War. Why then it sorts: brave warriors, let's

away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Before York.

Flourish. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the Prince of WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drums and trumpets.

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,

That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
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 infring'd 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?

9 Why then it SORTS:] i. e. It turns out as we desire, or it agrees or assorts with our wishes. The use of the word in this sense is frequent in writers of the time, and afterwards.

VOL. V.

S