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I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. : Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,

ko 330 Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no ? A thousand men have broke their faşts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right,

340 There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Queen. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom'd toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king (As if a channel should be call'd the sea), Sham'st 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 callat know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

E

Although

350

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 tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop;
And, had he match'd according to his state, 362
He might have kept that glory to this day :
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sun-shine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult; but thy pride ?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept ;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

370 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. Cla. But, when we saw our sun-shine made thy

spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root : And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, kņow thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave, 'till we have hewn thee down, Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any further conference, Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.--, Sound trumpets !-let our bloody colours wave!-And either vịctory, or else a grave. Queen. Stay, Edward.

Edw,

380

Edw. No, wrangling woman, I'll no longer stay: Thy words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

(Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Field of Baule, at Ferrybridge in Yorkshire. Alarum.

Excursions. Enter WARWICK,
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe :
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, 389
"Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
And, spight of spight, needs must I rest a while.

Enter EDWARD, running.,
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle

death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my lord ? what hap? what hope of good?

Enter CLARENCE.
Cla. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly?

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

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Enter RICHARD.

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

400 Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd Like to a dismal clangor heard from farWarwick, revenge! brother, Tevenge my death! So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. War. Then let the earth be drunken with our

blood : I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

410 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, 'Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.-420 And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings! Beseeching thee—if with thy will it stands, That to my foes this body must be prey

Yet

Yet that the brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ;--and, gentle
Warwick,

430
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farc-

wel.
Cla. Yet let us all together to our troops :
And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As yictors wear at the Olympian games :
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ;
For yet is hope of life, and victory.-

441 Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain.

(Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Rich

Another Part of the field. Excursions.

ARD, and CLIFFORD.

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environd with a brazen wall,

Clif

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