A bird that will revenge upon you

all;

And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; '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'errun my former time. * And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice, 'Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

[Draws. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand

causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honor him so much,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valor 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 v?
It is war's prize1 to take all vantages;

And ten to one is no impeach of valor.

[They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Clif Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the cony struggle in the net.

[YORK is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquered

booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatched.

North. What would your grace have done unto him

now?

1 Prize here means an advantage that may be taken; unless we can imagine that it may signify licitum est, "it is prized or esteemed lawful in war," &c. Price, prise, and prize, were used indiscriminately by our

ancestors.

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumber

land,

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 king? Was't you that revelled 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, crookback prodigy,
Dicky, your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I stained this napkin with the blood
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 dance.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?

* Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
* And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou wouldst be feed, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.

A crown for York ;-and, lords, bow low to him.— Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

1 Reached.

[Putting a paper crown on his head.?

2 According to Hall, the paper crown was not placed on York's head till after he was dead; but Holinshed, after having copied Hall, says:"Some write that the duke was taken alive and in derision caused to stand upon a molehill, on whose heade they put a garland instead of a crown, which they had fashioned and made of segges or bulrushes, and having so crowned him with that garlande, they kneeled down afore him, as the Jews did to Christe, in scorne, saying to him, Hayle, king without rule, ha le, king without heritage, hayle, duke and prince without people or

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 crowned so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,

Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale1 your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,

Now in his life, against your holy oath?

O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable!

Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.

6

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 tooth! 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, visorlike, unchanging,

Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom derived,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
shameless.

Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,

Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;

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 queen;
Unless the adage must be verified,—

That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;

possessions. And, at length having thus scorned hym with these and diverse other the like despitefull woordes, they strooke off his heade, which (as ye have heard) they presented to the queen."

1 Impale, encircle with a crown.

2 i. e. the crown, the emblem or symbol of royalty.

But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small.
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;
The contrary doth make thee wondered at.
'Tis government,' that makes them seem divine;
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, wrapped in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
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, remorseless.

'Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst 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 obsequies;
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 touched, would not have stained 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 boy,
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;

1 Government, in the language of the time, signified evenness of temper,

and decency of manners.

2 Passions for griefs.

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

curse;

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 slaughterman to all my kin,
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.1

[Exeunt.

1 This gallant prince fell by his own imprudence, in consequence of leading an army of only five thousand men to engage with twenty thousand, and not waiting for the arrival of his son, the earl of March, with a large body of Welshmen. He and Cecily his wife, with his son Edmund, earl of Rutland, were originally buried in the chancel of Fotheringay church. Peacham, in his Complete Gentleman, 1627, p. 153, gives an account of the destruction of their monuments, of the disinterment, &c., and of their reinterment in the church, by command of queen Elizabeth, under a mean monument of plaster.