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Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,

And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop;
And, had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day;
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,

And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept,
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,

We set the axe to thy usurping root:

And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,

Since thou deniedst the gentle king to speak.-
Sound trumpets!-let our bloody colours wave,
And either victory, or else a grave.

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.

Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Field of Battle near Towton.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK.

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe;

For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile.

Enter EDWARD, running.

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death!

For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

Enter GEORGE.

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair : Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.

What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?

Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with wings, And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter RICHARD.

Rich. Ah, Warwick! why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
And, in the very pangs of death he cried,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
"Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!"
So, underneath the belly of their steeds,

That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:

I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,
And look upon, as if the tragedy

Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick! I do bend my knee with thine;

And in this vow do chain my soul to thine.
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings;
Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands,
That to my foes this body must be prey,—
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.—
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or in earth.

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand;-and, gentle
Warwick,

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.

I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,

That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,

And give them leave to fly that will not stay,
And call them pillars that will stand to us;
And if we thrive promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;

For yet is hope of life, and victory.

Foreslow no longer'; make we hence amain. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Same. Another part of the Field.

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD3.

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.
Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York,
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland ;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself;

And so, have at thee.

[They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death*. [Exeunt.

2 FORESLOW no longer;] i. e. Delay no longer. "Foreslow" is a word which occurs in Peele's "Battle of Alcazar." Vide Peele's Works, by Dyce, 2nd edit. vol. ii. p. 132. It is also used in the same sense by Whetstone, Marlow, and other earlier writers of the time.

3 Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.] Although the scene was supposed to represent a field of battle, the old stage-direction in "The True Tragedy" is, Alarums, and then enter Richard at one door, and Clifford at another." The scene there thus opens :

"Rich. A Clifford a Clifford !

"Clif. A Richard! a Richard!

"Rich. Now Clifford, for York and young Rutland's death," &c.

this wolf to death.] Two very similar lines occur in "Henry VI." part

ii.; see this Vol. p. 217.

"Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase;

For I myself must hunt this deer to death."

In “The True Tragedy" no corresponding lines are found; and the stagedirection there is, “Alarums: they fight; then enters Warwick and rescues Richard, and then exeunt omnes."

SCENE V.

Another Part of the Field.

Alarum. Enter King HENRY.

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind:
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc❜d to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
Now, one the better, then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here, on this molehill, will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory;
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle, swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
For what is in this world but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known, then to divide the times:

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