، Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, Som. O, monstrous traitor!-I arrest thee, York, ، Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown. * Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. * York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these, * If they can brook I bow a knee to man. * Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail; [Exit an Attendant. * I know, ere they will have me go to ward, * They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, * To say, if that the bastard boys of York * Shall be the surety for their traitor father. * York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, * Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those • That for my surety will refuse the boys. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET, with * See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it good. * Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king! York. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: Clif. This is my king, York; I do not mistake; But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do. To Bedlam1 with him! Is the man grown mad? K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humor Makes him oppose himself against his king. Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, ' And chop away that factious pate of his. Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. York. Will you not, sons? Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. 2 * Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! * York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; * I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.' Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, * That, with the very shaking of their chains, * They may astonish these fell lurking curs. * Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. Drums. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY, with Forces. Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bearward in their chains, ' If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. * Rich. Oft have I seen a hot, o'erweening cur * Run back and bite, because he was withheld; * Who, being suffered with the bear's fell paw, 1 This has been thought an anachronism; but Stowe shows that it is not:-"Next unto the parish of St. Buttolph is a fayre inne for receipt of travellers; then an hospitall of S. Mary of Bethlehem, founded by Simon Fitz-Mary, one of the Sheriffes of London, in the yeare 1246. He founded it to have beene a priorie of cannons with brethren and sisters, and king Edward the Thirde granted a protection, which I have seene, for the brethren Milicicæ beatæ Mariæ de Bethlem, within the citie of London, the 14th yeare of his raigne. It was an hospitall for distracted people."-Survey of London, p. 127, 1598. 2 The Nevils, earls of Warwick, had a bear and ragged staff for their crest. * Hath clapped his tail between his legs, and cried. * And such a piece of service will you do, * If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. * Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul, indigested lump, * As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! * York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. * Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn your selves. * K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? * Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, * Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! * What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, * And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? * O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? * If it be banished from the frosty head, * Where shall it find a harbor in the earth? * Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, * And shame thine honorable age with blood? * Sal. My lord, I have considered with myself * The title of this most renowned duke; * And in my conscience do repute his grace * The rightful heir to England's royal seat. * K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me ? * Sal. I have. * K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with Heaven for such an oath? * Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin; * But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. * Who can be bound by any solemn vow * To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, * To force a spotless virgin's chastity, * To reave the orphan of his patrimony, * To wring the widow from her customed right; 1 1 * And have no other reason for this wrong, * Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. York. Call Buckingham and all the friends thou hast, ، I am resolved for death or dignity. Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field. War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, The rampant bear chained to the ragged staff, Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou 1 A burgonet is a helmet; a Burgundian's steel cap or casque. 2 One on whom nature has set a mark of deformity, a stigma. It was, originally and properly, "a person who had been branded with a hot iron for some crime." SCENE 11. Saint Albans. Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland. Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. Enter YORK. How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot? ، York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; But match to match I have encountered him, • And made a prey for carrion kites and crows • Even of the bonny beast he loved so well. Enter CLIFFORD. War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, For I myself must hunt this deer to death. War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st. As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, [Exit WARWICK. Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause? ، York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy. |