Imatges de pÓgina
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Q. Mar. Enforced thee! Art thou king, and wilt

be forced ? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch ! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; And given unto the house of York such head, As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy se pulchre, And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ; Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd ine on their pikes, Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr’st thy lite before thine honour : And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeai’d, Whereby my son is disinherited. The norinern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace, And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee :-Come, son, let's away ; Our army's ready ; come, we'll after them. K. Heit. Stay, gentle Margaret, an

hear me speak. Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already ; get

thee gone.
K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with

Q. Mur. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

Prince. When I return with viciory from the field,
I'll see your grace : ill then, I'il follow her.
R. Mar. Come, son, away, we inay not linger


(Lxeunt Queen Margaret, and the Prince. K. Hen. Poor queen! How love to me, and to her

Hath inade her break out into terms of rage !
Revenued 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 iny son!

• Peck

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and us ;

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.
Ere. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wake

field, in Yorkshire.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me

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 3
What is your quarrel? How hegan it first ?

Edw. No qnarrel, but a slight contention.
York. About what?

Rich. About that which concerns your grace, 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

Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
By giving the bouse 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'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be for

York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate,
That hath authority over him that swears :
Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;

Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.— Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent.You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise; And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster?


But, stay; what news? Why comest thou in such post?

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,

Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ;-
My brother Montague shall post to London :
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With-powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [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 ?

+ Of sound judgment.

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

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?


SCENE III Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions.-Enter RUTLAND and his


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.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him."

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
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.--
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;-
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should


Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Clif. Had I thy brethern here, their lives and thine,

Were not revenge sufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And nung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

[Lifting his Hand, Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death :To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay


Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,-
He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause ?

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ + !

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.


SCENE IV.-The same.

Alarum.-Enter YORK.

York. The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced them: But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves


+ Heaven grant this may be your greatest boast. Ovid. Epist.

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