܀ For never henceforth shall I joy again, Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 82 And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. 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, Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with His dukedom and his chair with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Shew 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. 90 March. Enter WARWICK, Marquis of MONTAGUE, and their Army. War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad? Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and, 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! Dij 100 Edw. Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 110 March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, 120 Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. 130 Or Or like an idle thresher, with a flail Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 140 Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War wick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some six miles off the duke is with his power: And for your brother-he was lately sent From your kind aunt, dutchess 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. 150 War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear: For thou shalt know, this strong right-hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not; 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords. 160 War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. And now to London all the crew are gone, 170 Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 180 Why, Via! to London will we march amain; And once again cry-Charge upon the foe! But But never once again turn back, and fly. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sun-shine day, That cries-Retire, when Warwick bids him stay. Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; And he, that casts not up his cap for joy, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 200 Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel (As thou hast shewn it flinty by thy deeds) I come to pierce it-or to give thee mine. Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God, and saint Enter a Messenger. War. How now? what news? Mes. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; War. |