Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me, sweet son;[me. The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd? [wretch! I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; And given unto the house of York such head, As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ; Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas;

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 silly woman,
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their

Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my son is disinherited.

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 house of York.
Thus do I leave thee:-Come, son, let's away;
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me

Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field,

I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

[Exeunt Queen MARGARET, and the PRINCE. K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and

to her son,

Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle,
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son!
The loss of those three lords torments my

I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;-
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconsile them all.
SCENE II-A Room in Sandal Castle, neur
Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, und MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give

me leave.

Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Enter YORK.

York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife?

What is your quarrel? how began it first? * Peck.

Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
York. About what?

Rich. About that which concerns your grace, and us;

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 [breathe, By giving the house of Lancaster leave to It will outrun you, father, in the end.

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 forsworn.

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

me speak.


York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible: Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium, And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or


Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.-
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.-
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.-
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth
But that I seek occasion how to rise; [more,
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in
such post?

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,

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 sword. What! think'st
thou, that we fear them?-
My brother Montague shall post to London:
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;-
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.



Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER, York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!

Of sound judgement.

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

York. What, with five thousand men?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a

A woman's general; What should we fear?
[A March afar off.
Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men
in order;

And issue 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.

SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle.
Alurums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND, and

his TUTOR.

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their


Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!

Enter CLIFFORD, and Soldiers.

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause?

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[CLIFFORD stabs him.
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ !+


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

SCENE IV.-The same.
Alarum.-Enter YORK.
York. The army of the queen hath got the

My uncles both are slain in rescuing ine;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced
But this I know,-they have demean'd them-

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves Like men born to renown, by life, or death.

thy life.

As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him.
Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent

Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is
That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open
Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the

it fear,


That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;-
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa

ther's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it

He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives,

and thine,

Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefather's graves,
**And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York

Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

[Lifting his hand.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:-
To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!
Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou
slay me?

Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But '(was ere I was born.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of

And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre! or an earthly sepulchre!
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
We bodg'dt again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching
A short Alurum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
And, were I strong, I would not shun their


The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Queen MARGARET, CLIFFord, Northum-

BERLAND, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumber-

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantage-


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Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no | Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me farther;

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate 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

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for



York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. -
A crown for York;-and, lords, bow low to
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.-

[Putting a paper Crown on his Heud.
Ay, marry, Sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with

And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thou-O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable!--
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his

sand causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life :Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him
so much,

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 struggles.
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with
the gin.
North. So doth the coney struggle in the net.
[YORK is taken prisoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their con-
quer'd booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so match'd.

North. What would your grace have done unto him now?

[dead.+ And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,


Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom de-
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou
not shameless.

o'er-Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalenr;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud

Q. Mur. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.-
What! was it you, that would be England's

Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut-
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom 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,
I should lament thy miserable state.


I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.

Honest men. + Reached.


Unless the adage must be verified,
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to
"Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government, that makes them seem dí-

The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,
Or as the south to the septentrion.||
O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse-
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast
thy will:


For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obse-
quies ;

Impale, encircle with a crown. + Kill him. The distinguishing mark. Government, in the language of the time, signified evenness of temper, and decency of manuers. || The North.

And every drop cries vengeance for his death,

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false French-woman.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions* move

me so,

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet

And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
[He gives back the Handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears;
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!-
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my


And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!—
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my

I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. [Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.



The rest stand all aloof, and bark at nim.
So fared our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!*
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love?
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three


Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;

Not separated with the racking clouds.+
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.

Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights to-

And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-By your leave I speak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.


But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on, When as the noble duke of York was slain, Your princely father, and my loving lord. Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Mess. Environed he was with many foes; And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak, By many hands your father was subdued;

SCENE I-A plain near MORTIMER's Cross in But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high de-


Drums.-Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching.

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; Had he been ta'en, we would have heard the [news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the Or, had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard


The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he boret 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,

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spight; [wept, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

slain :

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean


Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!-
O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd

Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
Ah, would she break from hence! that this my

* Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.

+ The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion. + Merit.


Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
Rich. I cannot weep: for all my body's mois-
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great


For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames, that tears would

To weep, is to make less 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,

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun; For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;

Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March.-Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with Forces.

War. How now, fair lords? What fare? What news abroad?

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news, at each word's deliverance, 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 slain. Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, [tion, Which held thee dearly as his soul's redempIs by the stern lord Clifford done to death." War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in


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Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled: the king, unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle
And when came George from Burgundy to
War. Some six miles off the duke is with

the soldiers;

And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. "Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost
thou hear;
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist;
Were he as famous and as bold in war,
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick; blame

me not:

'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek

you out:

And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught* Northumber-

And of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy melting king, like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of

Amongst the loving Welchmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! To London will we march amain:
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes!
But never once again turn back, and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War

wick speak:

Ne'er may be live to see a sunshine day,
That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will
I lean;
And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the

* Lofty.

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