And ev'ry drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainft thee, fell Clifford; and thee, falfe French woman.
North. Befhrew me, but his paffions move me fo;
That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.
York. That face of his

The hungry canibals would not have touch'd,
Would not have ftain'd the roses juic'd with blood: (8)
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
Oh, ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father's tears;
This cloth thou dip'ft in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wafh the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;
And if thou tell'ft the heavy story right,
Upon my foul, the hearers will shed tears:
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And fay, alas, it was a piteous deed!.

There, take the crown; and, with the crown my curfe,
And in thy need fuch comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand.

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world,
My foul to heav'n, my blood upon your heads.
North. Had he been flaughter-man to all my kin,
I fhould not for my life but weep with him,
To fee how inly forrow gripes his foul.

Queen. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but he did us all, upon the wrong

(8) Would not have ftain'd the roses just with blood.] This reading we deriv'd from the 2d Folio edition. The old 4to and the firft Felio impreffion exhibit the paffage thus.

That face of bis the hungry canibals

Would not have touch'd, would not have ftain'd with blood. But how are we to understand, flaining the roses just with blood? Can the poet mean, that the canibals would not have just ftain'd the roses in his cheeks with blood? The pofition of the words is forc'd, to admit of this conftruction: and, juft, feems a very idle expletive, The conjecture, which I gave in print fometime ago, and with which I have now reftor'd the text, I am very willing to think, retrieves the poet's thought.

Would not have ftain'd the roses juic'd with blood. i. e. would not have fpilt that blood, whofe juices fhone thro' his young cheeks, bright as the vermilion dye in rofes.

And

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
[Stabbing him.
Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King.
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My foul flies through thefe wounds, to feek out thee.
[Dies.
Queen. Off with his head, and fet it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

A C T II.

SCENE, near Mortimer's Crofs in Wales.

A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their Power.

I

EDWARD.

Wonder, how our princely Father scap'd;
Or whether he be fcap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's purfuit?

Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been flain, we fhould have heard the news.
Or had he fcap'd, methinks, we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good efcape.
How fares my brother? why is he fo fad
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be refolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I faw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him, how he fingled Clifford forth;
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;

Or as a bear, encompafs'd round with dogs,
Who having pincht a few and made them cry,
The reft ftand all aloof and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies,
So fled his enemies my warlike father:

Methinks,

Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his fon.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewel of the glorious fun;
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trim'd like a yonker prancing to his love?
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I fee three funs?
Rich. Three glorious funs, each one a perfect fun;
Not separated with the racking clouds,

But fever'd in a pale clear-fhining sky.

See, fee, they join, embrace, and feem to kifs;
As if they vow'd fome league inviolable :

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one fun.
In this the heaven figures fome event.

Edw.'Tis wondrous ftrange the like yet never heard of.
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we the fons of brave Plantagenet,

Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should notwithstanding join our lights together,
And over-fhine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair fhining fans.

R. Nay, bear three daughters:-by your leave I fpeak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a Meffenger.

But what art thou, whofe heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful ftory hanging on thy tongue ?

Mej. Ah! one that was a woeful looker on,
When as the noble Duke of York was flain ;
Your princely father, and my loving Lord.
Edw. Oh, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
Rich. Say, how he dy'd; for I will hear it all.
Mef. Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have entred Troy.
But Hercules himself muft yield to odds;
And many ftroaks, though with a little ax,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was fubdu'd,
But only flaughter'd by the ireful arm

Of

Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen;

Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high defpight;
Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
The ruthlefs Queen gave him, to dry his cheek,
A napkin fteeped in the harmless blood

Of fweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford flain :
And after may fcorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They fet the fame; and there it doth remain
The faddeft fpectacle that e'er I view’d.

Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon !
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
Oh Clifford, boift'rous Clifford! thou haft flain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry,

And treacherously haft thou vanquish'd him!
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee.
Now my foul's palace is become a prison :
Ah, would fhe break from hence, that this my body
Might in the ground be clofed up in reft!
For never henceforth fhall I joy again,
Never, oh never, fhall I fee more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce ferves to quench my furnace-burning heart :
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden :
For felf-fame wind, that I fhould fpeak withal,
Is kindling coals that fire up all my breast;
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weep, is to make lefs the depth of grief:
Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll 'venge thy death;
Or die renowned by attempting it.

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,
Shew thy defcent, by gazing 'gainst the fun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom fay;
Either that's thine, or else thou wert not his.

VOL. V.

F

March,

March. Enter Warwick, Marquis of Montague, and their army.

W. How now, fairLords? what fare? what news abroad? Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we fhould recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance 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 flain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! That Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly as his foul's redemption,
Is by the ftern 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 fith then befaln.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gafp,
Tidings, as fwiftly as the poft could run,
Were brought me of your lofs and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the King,
Mufter'd my foldiers, gather'd flocks of friends;
March'd towards St. Albans t' 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 fucceffion :
Short tale to make, we at St. Albans met,
Our battels join'd, and both fides fiercely fought;
But whether 'twas the coldness of the King,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queen,
That robb'd my foldiers of their heated fpleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her fuccefs,

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 foldiers, like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,

Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends.

4

I cheer'd