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Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
K. Hen. Full well bath Clifford play'd the orator,
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,
Enter a Messenger.
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
Clift. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen bath 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, WAR
WICK, 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;
Cliff. And reason too;
Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, 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?
[dare you speak ?
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 mauhood, that durst make you
Cliff. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child?
Rich. Av. 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, thai bred this meeting here, Cannot be card by words; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
Prince. If ihat 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 venoni 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 Agamemuon'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 inight 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,
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward."
Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.
SCENE 11. 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. 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 borse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women lere, Wailing oor losses, whiles the foe doth rage; . And look opon, 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,