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Weft. Farewel, faint-hearted and degenerate
king,

In whofe cold blood no spark of honour bides.
North. Be thou a prey unto the houfe of York,
And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome!
Or live in peace, abandon'd, and despis'd!
[Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford, and Weftmoreland,
War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them
[yield.
Exe. They feek revenge, and therefore will not
K. Henry. Ah, Exeter!

not.

War. Why should you figh, my lord? [fon,
K. Henry. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my
Whom I unnaturally fhall difinherit.

But, be it as it may :-I here entail
The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To ceafe this civil war, and, whilst I live,
20 To honour me as thy king and fovereign; and
Neither by treason, nor hoftility,

York. He rose against him, being his fovereign, 15
And made him to refign the crown perforce.
War. Suppofe, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to the crown 1?
Exe. No; for he could not fo refign his crown,
But that the next heir fhould fucceed and reign.
K. Henry. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter ?
Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
York. Why whifper you, my lords, and anfwer
not?

Exe. My confcience tells me, he is lawful king.25
K. Henry. All will revolt from me, and turn

to him.

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry fhall be fo depos'd.

War. Depos'd he shall be, in defpight of all.
North. Thou art deceiv'd: 'tis not thy fouthern
power,

Of Effex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,-
Which makes thee thus prefumptuous and proud,-
Can fet the duke up, in defpight of me.

30

35

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,
Where I fhall kneel to him that flew my father!
K. Henry. O Clifford, how thy words revive 40
my heart!

York. Henry of Lancaster refign thy crown:-
What mutter you, or what confpire you, lords?
War. Do right unto this princely duke of York;
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And, o'er the chair of ftate, where now he fits,
Write up his title with ufurping blood.

[He ftamps, and the foldiers fhew themselves. K. Henry. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word ;

Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king.
York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs,
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.
K. Henry. I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your fon?
War. What good is this to England, and himself?
Weft. Bafe, fearful, and despairing Henry!
Clif. How haft thou injur'd both thyfelf and us!
Wet. I cannot stay to hear these articles.
North. Nor I.

[news. Clif. Come, coufin, let's go tell the queen thefe

45

To feek to put me down, and reign thyself.

York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. War. Long live king Henry!-Plantagenet, embrace him.

K. Henry. And long live thou, and these thy
forward fons !

York. Now York and Lancafter are reconcil'd.
Exe. Accurs'd be he, that feeks to make them
foes! [Here the Lords come forward.
York. Farewel, my gracious lord; I'll to my

caftle.

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K. Henry. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay, Queen. Who can be patient in fach extremes? Ah, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid, 50 And never feen thee, never borne thee fon,

55

Seeing thou haft prov'd so unnatural a father!
Hath he deferv'd to lose his birth-right thus ?
Hadft thou but lov'd him half fo well as I;
Or felt that pain which I did for him once;
Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood;
Thouwouldft have left thydearest heart-blood there,
Rather than made that favage duke thine heir,
And difinherited thine only fon.

Prince. Father, you cannot difinherit me :
60 If you be king, why fhould not I fucceed?.
K. Henry. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me,
fweet fon ;-

c. to the prerogative of the crown.

The

The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.] Queen. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd?

I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou haft undone thyfelf, thy fon, and me;
And given unto the house of York fuch head,
As thou shalt reign but by their fufferance.
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it, but to make thy fepulchre,
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow feas;
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 filly woman,
The foldiers should have tofs'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'ft thy life before thine honour:
And, feeing thou doft, I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my fon is difinherited.

What is your quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No quarrel, but a sweet contention 4.
York. About what?
[and us;

Rich. About that which concerns your grace
5 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 death.
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
10 It will out-run you, father, in the end.

15

20

25

The northern 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 houfe of York.
Thus do I leave thee:-Come, fon, let's away;
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 30
speak.
[thee gone.
Queen. Thou haft spoke too much already; get||
K. Henry. Gentle fon Edward, thou wilt ftay
with me?

Queen. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory from the field,
I'll fee your grace: 'till then, I'll follow her.
Queen. Come, fon, away; we may not linger
thus.
[Exeunt Queen and Prince.

35

K. Henry. Poor queen! how love to me, and to 40
her fon,

Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whofe haughty fpirit, winged with defire,
Will coaft my crown ', and, like an empty eagle,
Tire 2 on the flesh of me, and of my fon!
The lofs of those three lords 3 torments my heart:
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ;-
Come, coufin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

SCENE II.

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
forfworn!

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

York. Thou can'ft not, fon; it is impoffible. 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 ufurp the place;
Then, feeing 'twas he that made you to depofe,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms: And, father, do but think
How fweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whofe circuit is Elyfium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white rofe, that I wear, be dy'd
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 enterprize.--
Thou, Richard, fhalt to the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.-
You, Edward, fhall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentish men will willingly rife :
In them I truft; for they are foldiers,
Witty 5, and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.-
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more,
But that I feek occafion how to rife;

45 And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the houfe of Lancaster ?
Enter a Meffenger.

501

[Excunt.

Sandal Caftle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Enter Edvard, Richard, and Montague.

But, ftay; What news? Why com'ft thou in fuch post? [lords, Gab. The queen, with all the northern earls and 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 fword. What! think't thou, that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ;My brother Montague fhall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the reft, Whom we have left protectors of the king, 60 With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves, And truft not fimple Henry, nor his oaths.

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55

Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me

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i.e. hover over or range about my crown. talons, from the French tirer; or to peck.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:

2 To tire may either mean to faften, to fix the 3 viz. Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Clifford.

4 Meaning, that the argument of their dispute was upon a grateful topic, viz. the question of their Witty would here feem to mean, of found judgement. father's immediate right to the crɔwn.

An

And thus moft humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit Montague. Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen means to besiege us.
Sir Jebn. She fhall not need, we'll meet her în
the field.

York. What, with five thousand men? 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 fet our men in order ;

And iffue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty-though the odds
be great,

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 ?
[Alarum. Exeunt.

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It could not flake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The fight of any of the houfe of York
Is as a fury to torment my foul;
And 'till I root out their accursed line,

5 And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore
[Lifting bis band.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death :-
To thee I pray; fweet Clifford, pity me!
Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. [me?
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou flay
Clif. Thy father hath.

10

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou haft one fon, for his fake pity me; Left, in revenge thereof,-fith God is just,15 He be as miferably flain as I.

Ah, let me live in prifon all my days;
And when I give occafion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou haft no cause.
Clif. No caufe!

20 Thy father flew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford ftabs him.
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis fumma fit ifta tuæ!
[Dies.

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet ! 25 And this thy fon's blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall ruft upon my weapon, 'till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

30

35

SCENE IV.

Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York.
York. The army of the queen hath got the field:
My uncles 2 both are flain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs purfu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My fons-God knows, what hath bechanced them:
But this I know,-they have demean'd themfelves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cry'd,—Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of thofe that had encounter'd him :
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
45 Richard cry'd-Charge! and give no foot of ground!
And cry'd-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A feepter, or an earthly fepulchre !

[Exit, dragg'd off 40 Cif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear,

That makes him close his eyes?—I'll open them.
Rat. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And fo he walks, infulting o'er his prey:
And fo he comes, to rend his limbs afunder.-
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy fword,
And not with fuch a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me fpeak before I die ;-
I am too mean a fubject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Cif. In vain thou fpeak'st, poor boy; my father's

blood

[enter.

With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
We bodg'd 3 again; as I have feen a swan
50 With bootlefs labour fwim against the tide,
And spend her ftrength with over-matching waves.
[A fhort alarum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do purfue;
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
And, were I ftrong, I would not fhun their fury:
The fands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I ftay, and here my life must end.
Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, and
Soldiers.

Hath ftopp'd the paffage where thy words fhould 55
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. [thine,
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and
Were not revenge fufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

60

Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,

1 This line is in Ovid's Epiftle from Phillis to Demopheon.

2 These were two baftard uncles by the I dare

mother's fide, Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 3 i. e. we failed or miscarried again.

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;

I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

Made iffue from the bofom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to fuch mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, fhew'd unto my father. 5 I fhould lament thy miferable state.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,

And made an evening at the noon-tide prick 1.
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all :
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no
further;

So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons :
So defperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time:
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face;
And bite thy tongue, that flanders him with cow-
ardice,

I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear could fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;
10 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may fing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I fee, to make me sport;
York cannot fpeak, unless he wear a crown.-
A crown for York ;-and, lords, bow low to him.--.
15 Hold you his hands, whilft I do fet it on.-

[Putting a paper crown on bis head.
Ay, marry, fir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-

20 But how is it, that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd fo foon, and broke his folemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
25 And rob his temples of the diadem,

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
[Draws.
Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thoufand
I would prolong a while the traitor's life :- [caufes,
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber-
land.
[much, 30

North. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him fo
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on York, who firuggles.
Clif. Ay, ay, fo ftrives the woodcock with the gin.
North. So doth the coney struggle in the net.
[York is taken prifoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd
booty!

Now in his life, against your holy oath ?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilft we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's death.
Queen. Nay, ftay; let's hear the orifons he makes.
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves
of France,

Whofe tongue more poifons than the adder's tooth! 35 How ill-befeeming is it in thy fex,

To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates!
But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
40I would affay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou cam'ft, of whom deriv'd,
Were fhame enough to fhame thee, wert thou
not shameless.

So true men yield, with robbers fo o'er-match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto 45 [berland,

him now?

Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerufalem;
Yet not fo wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to infult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unlefs the adage must be verify'd,-

Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northum-
Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here;
That raught at mountains with out-ftretched arms,
Yet parted but the fhadow with his hand.-
What! was it you, that would be England's king?
Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high defcent?
Where are your mess of fons, to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lufty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?
Or, with the reft, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I ftain'd this napkin 3 with the blood 60 Oh, tyger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,

50 That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy fhare thereof is small :
Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at ;
55 'Tis government 4, that makes them feem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as oppofite to every good,

As the Antipodes are unto us,

Or as the fouth to the feptentrion.

How could'ft thou drain the life-blood of the child,

1 Or, noon-tide point on the dial. 2 i. e. that reach'd, raught being the ancient preterite and participle paffive of reach. 3 A napkin is a handkerchief, 4 Government here fignifies evenness

of temper, and decency of manners.

To

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are foft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou ftern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidft thou me rage? why, now thou haft thy wish :[
Wouldft have me weep? why, now thou haft thy
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, [will.
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
Thefe tears are my fweet Rutland's obfequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death.-
'Gainst 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 cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have ftain'd
with blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more,-than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'ft in blood of my sweet boy,
And lo! with tears I wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
[He gives back the bandkerchief.
And, if thou tell'ft the heavy story right,

5

Upon my foul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foe will fhed faft-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!- [curfe;
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my
]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 heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been flaughter-man to all my kin,
10I fhould not for my life but weep with him,
To fee how inly forrow gripes his foul.

Queen. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum
berland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
15 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

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ACT II.

Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales.

A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power.
Edw. Wonder, how our princely father 'fcap'd;
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; 40
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or, had he 'fcap'd, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good efcape.-
How fares our 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, encompass'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd 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, '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,
Trimm'd like a yonker, prancing to his love!

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1 i. e. bencur enough.

a track.

great exploits,

[fun;

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I fee three funs?
Rich. Three glorious funs, each one a perfe&
35 Not feparated by the racking clouds 2,
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. [heard of.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the fons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds 3,
45 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 funs.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-by your
leave I fpeak it,

50

55

16c

You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Meffenger.

But what art thou, whofe heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mcf. 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, fpeak no more! for I have heard too
much.

Rich. Say how he dy'd, for I will hear it all.

2 Meaning, the clouds as they are driven by the winds; from racke, Belg.

3i. e. Illuftrious and fhining by the armorial enfigns granted us as meeds or rewards of our

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