Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault?
And long hereafter say unto his child,-

What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?.

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,

To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,—
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

[nigh,
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son;
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.-
Edward, kneel down.

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,

And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Cliff. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness:

For, with a band of thirty thousand men,

Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
And, in the towns as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

Cliff. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent.

Q. Mar. Ay, good, my lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll North. Be it with resolution then to fight.

[stay. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head;

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Q. Mar. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,

Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent:

Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,

You-that are king, though he do wear the crown,Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,

To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Cliff. And reason too;

Who should succeed the father, but the son?

Rich. Are you there, butcher?-O, I cannot speak! Cliff. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

Rich. "Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not? Cliff. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the [dare you speak? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? When you and I met at St. Albans last,

crown?

Your legs did better service than your hands.

War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
Cliff. You said so much before, aud yet you fled.
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me

thence.

North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you
stay.

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently;-
Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

Cliff. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child?
Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
But, ere sunset, I'll make thee curse the deed.

K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear
me speak.

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.

Cliff. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.

Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam ; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,

Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king

(As if a channel should be call'd the sea),

Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself.Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 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 deny'st 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 111. A Field of Battle between TowTON
and SAXTON, in YORKSHIRE.

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,