Imatges de pàgina
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K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away. [Excunt.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford wounded.
Clif. Here burns my Candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,
More than my Body's parting with my Soul:
My Love and Fear glew'd many Friends to thee, [Falling.
And now I fall, thy tough Commixtures melt,
Impairing, Henry, strengthning miss-proud Tork;
And whither fly the Gnats, but to the Sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's Enemies?
O Phoebus! hadst thou never giv'n consent,
That Phaeton should check thy fiery Steeds,
Thy burning Car never had scorch'd the Earth.
And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as Kings should do,
Or as thy Father, and his Father did,
Giving no ground unto the House of York,
They never then had sprung like Summer Flies :
I, and ten thousand in this luckless Realm,
Had left no mourning Widows for our Death,
And thou this day, hadst kept thy Chair in peace.
For what doth cherish Weeds, but gentle Air?
And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootless are Plaipts, and cureless are my Wounds,
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight;
The Foe is merciless, and will not pity:
For at their Hands I have deserv'd no pity.
The Air hath got into my deadly Wounds,
And much effufe of Blood doth make me faint:
Come York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest,
I stabb'd your Father's Bosoms; split my Breast. [He faints.
Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard,

Mountague, Clarence, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we Lords, good Fortune bids us pawse,
And smooth the frowns of War with peaceful looks:
Some Troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a King,
As doth a Sail filld with a fretting Gust,

Command

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Command an Argosie to stem the Waves:
But think you Lords, that Clifford Aed with them?

War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For though before his Face I speak the word,
Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave;
And wherefoe'er he is

, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans.
Rich. Whose Soul is that, which takes her heavy leave?
A deadly groan, like Life and Death's departing,
See who it is,

Edw. And now the Battel's ended,
If Friend or Foe, let him be gently used.

Rich. Revoke that doom of Mercy, for 'tis Clifford,
Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch
In hewing Rutland, when his leaves put forth,
But set his murth’ring Knife unto the Root,
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean our Princely Father, Duke of York:

War. From off the Gates of York fetch down the head,
Your Father's Head, which Clifford placed there:
Instead whereof, let his supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal Screech-owl to our House,
That nothing sung but Death to us and ours :
Now death shall itop his dismal threatning found,
And his ill-boading Tongue no more shall speak.

War. I think his understanding is bereft:
Speak Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy Death o'er-shades his Beams of Life,
And he nor fees, nor hears us, what we say.

Rich. O would he did; and fo, perhaps, he doth;
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our Father,

Cla. If so thou thinkst,
Vex him with eager words.

Rich. Clifford, ask Mercy, and obtain no Grace,
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Cla. While we devise fell Tortures for thy faults.
Rich, Thou didit love York, and I am Son to Tork.
Edw. Thou pitied'st Rusland, I will piry thee.

Cla. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

War. They mock thee, Clifford,
Swear, as thou wast wont.

Rich. Wha', not an Oath! Nay, then the World goes hard,
When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an Oath:
I know by that he's dead, and by my Soul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours life,
That I, in all despight, might rail at him,
This hand Mould chop it off; and with the issuing Blood
Scifle the Villain, whose unAanched thirst
York, and young Ruland, could not satisfie.

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the Traitor's Head,
And rear it in the place your Father's stands,
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's Royal King:
From whence shall Warwick cut the Sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen.
So shalt thou finew both these Lands together,
And having France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd Foe, that hopes to rise again:
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz to offend thine Ears.
First will I see the Coronation,
And then to Britany I'll cross the Sea,
To effe& this Marriage, so it please my Lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For on thy Shoulder do I build my Scat:
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy Counsel and Consent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloster,
And George of Clarence; Warwick as our self
Shall do, and undo, as him pleasech best.
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, Gcorge of Glofier

, For Gloster's Dukedom is too ominous,

War. Tut, that's a foolish obfervation : Richard, be Duke of Gloster : Now to London, To see these honours in pofleflion.

Exeunt.

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ACT

A C T III. SCEN E I.

1

Enter Sinklo, and Humphry, with Cross-bows in their

Hands,

Sink.

For through this Laund anon the Deer will come, And in this Covert will we make our Stand, Culling the principal of all the Deer. Hump. I'll stay above the Hill, so both

may

shoot.
Sink. That cannot be, the noise of thy Cross-bow
Will scare the Herd, and so my shoot is loft:
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best,
And, for the time thall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a Day,
In this self-place, where now we mean to stand.
Sink. Here comes a Man, let's stay 'till he be past.

Enter King Henry with a Prayer-Book.
K. Henry. From Scotland am I stoľn even of pure love,
To greet mine own Land with my wishful sight:
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine,
Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee,
Thy Balm walht off where with thou wast anointed,
No bending Knee will call thee Cafar now,
No humble Sutors press to speak for right:
No, not a Man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not my self?

Sink. Ay, here's a Deer, whose Skin’s a Keeper's Fee: This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him.

K. Henry. Let me embrace the four Adversaries,
For wise Men say, it is the wisest course.

Hump. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
Sink. Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry. My Queen and Son are gone to France for a'd:
And, as I hear, ihe great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French King's Sister
To Wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen, and Son, your labour is but loft:
For Warwick is a subtle Orator;.

And Lewis a Prince soon won with moving Words:
By this account then Margaret may win him,
For she's a Woman to be pitied much:
Her fighs will make a batt’ry in his Breast,
Her Tears will pierce into a Marble Heart:
The Tyger will be mild, whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish Tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give:
She on his left fide craving Aid for Henry;
He on his right, asking a Wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says, her Henry is depos’d;
He smiles, and says, his Edward is installd;
That she poor wretch for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick tells his Title, smooths the wrong,
Jnferreth Arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins tle King from ber,
With promise of his Sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus ’owill be, and thou (poor Soul)
Art then forsaken, as chou went'st forlorn.

Hum. Say, what art thou that talk'st of Kings, and Queens?

K. Henry. More than I seem, and less than I was born to;
A Man ar leaft, for less I should not be;
And Men may talk of Kings, and why not I?

Hum. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a King.
K. Henry. Why so I am, in Mind, and that's enough.
Hum. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crown?

K. Henry. My Crown is in my Heart, not on my Head :
Nor deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian Stones ;
Not to be seen: My Crown is called Content,
A Crown it is that seldom Kings enjoy.

Humi. Well, if you be a King crown’d with Content,
Your Crown Content, and you must be contented
To go along with us. For, as we think,
You are the King, King Edward hath depos’d:
And we his Subjects, sworn in all Allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his Enemy.

K. Henry. But did you never swear, and break an Oath.
Hum. No, never such an Oath, nor will not now.
K. Henry. Where did you dwell when I was King of Enge

Hima

Land?

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