gue,

crown:

brood.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling, while he kuit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blessed with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young: And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them (even with those wings flight,) Which sometime they have used with fearful Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's de[fence? For shame, my liege, make them your preceWere it not pity, that this goodly boy [dent!

Why then things are as they should be.

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault?
What my great-grandfather and grand-sire got,
And long hereafter say unto his child,-
My careless father fondly* gave away?
And let his manly face, which promiseth,
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
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.
That things ill got had ever bad success?
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,—
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
And 'would my father had left me no more!
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
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!
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits! Our
foes are nigh,
And this soft courage makes your followers
[faint.
You promised knighthood to our forward son;
Unsheath your sword, and dub him present-
Edward, kneel down.
[ly.-

And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; right.

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly And in that quarrel use it to the death. I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, [leave Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a MESSENGER.

For, with a band of thirty thousand men,
Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness;
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 battlet for they are at hand.
Clif. I would, your highness would depart
the field;

[sent. The queen hath best success when you are abQ. Mar. Ay, good, my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,

And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry St. George!

March.-Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, Richard, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers.

And set thy diadem upon my head;
Edw. Now, perjured Henry! Wilt thou kneel
for grace,
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Q. Mar. Go rate thy minions, proud insult-
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
ing boy!
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

[knee;

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,

* Foolishly.

† 1. e. Arrange your host, put your host in order.

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

War. What say'st thou, Heary, wilt thou yield the crown?

Q. Mar. Why, how now long-tongued Warwick? Dare you speak?

When you and I met at St. Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
thine.

Clif. You said so much before, and 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-swollen heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

Clif. 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 sun-set, 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 I am a king, and privileged to speak. [tongue; Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,

Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.

Rich. Then executioner, unsheath thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved,* That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or

Whose father bears the title of a king, (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) Shamest 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 callett 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 tamed 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 graced thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for
him,
[France,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what 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

master;

And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, Have by my hands of life bereaved him.Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.

K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!

Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear:

And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief.

Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit with the Body. Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind

ing sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. [will,
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
[Exit with the Body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone
with care,

Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums: Excursions.--Enter Queen MARGA-
RET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.
Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends
are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Ber-
wick post amain;
[hounds,
Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey-
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,

the Body in his Arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly had resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with a hundred blows.But let me see :-Is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers

arise,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!

O, pity, God, this miserable age!-
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
K. Hen. Woe above woe! Grief more than
common grief!
[deeds!-
O, that my death would stay these ruthful
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity;-
'The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other, his pale cheek, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!"
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's
death,

Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of

my son,

Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them:

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter;

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-The same.

A loud Alarum.-Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it

dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
thee;
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud
York,

The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's enemies?
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings

should do,

Or as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in
peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
And what make robbers bold, but too much
[wounds;

Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my
lenity?
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For, at their hands, I have deserved no pity;
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:[rest; Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat.-Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause, [looks.And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen; That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with

them?

War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [CLIFFORD groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

Edw. See who it is: and now the battle's ended,

If friend, or foe, let him be gently used.
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis
Clifford ;

Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch,
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly
spring,

I mean our princely father, duke of York. War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: Instead whereof, let this supply the room; Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth this fatal screech-owl to our house,

That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,

And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the Body forward. War. I think his understanding is bereft:Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to

thee?

Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. Rich. O, 'would he did! And so, perhaps, he "Tis but his policy to counterfeit, [doth; Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.*

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no

Rich. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard, [oath:When Clifford cannot spare his friends an I know by that, he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hours' lite, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing blood

Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head,

And rear it in the place your father's stands.-
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to
France,

And ask the lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not
dread

The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;
And then to Britanny I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, le
it be:

For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting..
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster;-
And George, of Clarence;-Warwick, as our-
self,

Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence, George

of Gloster;

For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation; Richard be duke of Gloster: now to London, To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt.

ACT NI.

SCENE 1.-A Chase in the North of England. Enter Two KEEPERS, with Cross-bows in their Hands.

1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake* we'll shroud ourselves; [come; For through this laund+ anon the deer will And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may

shoot,

1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow

Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter King HENRY, disguised, with a Prayerbook.

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast
anointed: