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Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ;

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, Bidd'st then me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : || The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: So fard our father with his enemies; For raging wind blows up incessant showers. So fled his enemies my warlike father ; And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.

Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And every drop cries vengeance for his death, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, -and thee, false French-wa- How well resembles it the prime of youth,

Trimm'd like a younker, praneing to his love! North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three subs? That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Not separated with the racking clouds, Would not have touch'd, would not have staind with But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. blood :

See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, But you are more inhuman, more inexorable -- As if they vow'd some league inviolable : O, ten times more, -than tigers of Hyrcania. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun, See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears :

In this the heaven figures some event. This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet dever And I with tears do wash the blood away.

heard of. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; [He gives back the handkerchief. That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,

Each one already blazing by our needs, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And over

shine the earth, as this the world. And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed !

Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear There, take the crown, and, with the crown. my curse; Upon my target three fair shining suns. And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;-by your leave! As now I reap at thy too cruel hand !

speak it,
Heard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; You love the breeder better than the male.-
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads !

Enter a Messenger.
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,

But what art thou, whose heavy looks forctel

Some dreaful story hanging on thy tonguç? To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on, l. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumber

When as the noble duke of York was slain,

Your princely, father, and my loving lord.
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich. Say bow he died, for I will hear it all. Clif. Here's for my oath, liere's for my father's

Mcss. Environed he was with many foes; death.

(Stabbing him.

And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.

[Stabbing him.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds : York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!

And many strokes, though with a little axe, My soul flies through these wounds to seck out thee.

Hew down and fell the hardest timberd oak.

[Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates? | But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm

By many hands your father was subulud; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:

Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ;

Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he weply ACT II

The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood SCENE 1.-A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Here. fordshire . Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, || And, after any scorns, many foul taunts,

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: with their Forces, marching.

They took his head, and on the gates of York

They set the same; and there it doth remain,
I WONDER, how our princely father 'scap'd ; The saddest spectacle that ere 1 view'd.
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,

Edw. Swett duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news ; O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain Had he been slain, we should have leard the news ; The flower of Europe for his chivalry; Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, Vhe happy tidings of his good escape.

For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee Thw fares iny brother? why is he so sad ?

Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolvd

Ah, would she break from bence! that this

my body re our right valiant father is become.

Might in the ground be closed up in rest : SCE. him in the battle range about ;

For never benceforth shall I joy again, Eetch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. Never, O never, shall I see more joy. Rut. ght, he bore him in the thickest troop,

Ruch. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture, Ah, tuto liop in a herd of neat:

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:


Nor ean my tongue imload my heart's great burden ; From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:

But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire. Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge, for me!

- War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear: Richard, I bear thy name, l'li venge thy death, For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Or die renowned by attempting it.

Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left to thee: And wring the awful sceptre from his fist ;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Were he as famous and as bold in war,
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not ;
For chair and dakedom, throne and kingdom say; 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces.

And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, War. How dow, fair lords ? What fare? what news | Numb’ring our Ave Maries with our beads ? abroad?

Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, If for the last, say-Ay; and to it, lords. Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
The words would add more anguish than the wounds. And therefore comes my brother Montague.
O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
Edw. O Warwick ! Warwick! that Plantagenet, With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, And of their feather, many more proud birds,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears : He swore consent to your succession,
And now, to add more measure to your woes,

His oath enrolled in the parliament;
I come to tell you things since then befall’n.

And now to London all the crew are gone, After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, May make against the house of Lancaster.
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
I then in London, keeper of the king,

With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Master'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, Amongst the loving Welshren canst procure,
And very well appointed, as I thought,

Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, . March'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen, | Why, Via! to London will we march amain; Bearing the king in my behalf along :

And once again bestride our foaming steeds, For by my scouts I was advertised,

And once again cry-Charge upon our foes ! That she was coming with a full intent,

But never once again turn back, and fly, To dash our late deeree in parliament,

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.

speak : Short tale to make,-we at Saint Albans met,

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid bim stay.
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,

And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!) That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! Or whether 'twas report of her success ;

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, The next degree is, England's royal throne :
Who thunders to his captives-blood and death, For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, In every borough as we pass along;
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; And he that throws not up his cap for joy,
Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight, Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-

King Edward, -valiant Richard, - Montague -
Fell gertly down, as if they struck their friends. Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,

But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
With promise of high pay, and great rewards : Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
But all in vain ; they had to heart to fight,

(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) And we, in them, no hope to win the day,

I come to pierce it,-or to give thee mine. So that we fled; the king, unto the queen ;

Edw. Then strike up, drums ;-God, and St. George, Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,

for us! In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;

Enter a Messenger.
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.

War. How now? what news? Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War Mes. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, wick?

The qneen is coming with a puissant host; And when came George from Burgundy to England ? And craves your company for speedy coninsel.

War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers : War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors: Let's away. And for your brother,-he was lately sent

[E.a eunte

l'll draw it as apparent to the erowa,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward printe.

Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Royal commanders, be in readiness ;
For, with a band of thirty thousand men,
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 battle, for they are at hand.

Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent.

l. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our for.


SCENE II.-Before York. Enter King Henry, Queen

Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with Forces. l. Mar. Weleome, my lord, to this brave town of

Fonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
Doth not the object cbeer your heart, my lord ?
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer tliem that fear their

To see this sigbt, it irks my very soul.-
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Wbo 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou, smiling, while he knit 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, bless'd with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most uploving 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
Which sometime they have usd with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climbid unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent !
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child, -
What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting henit,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Hen. Full well bath Clifford play'd the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,-
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,
And 'would, my father had left me no more !
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fuld 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!
2. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our foes

are migh,
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ;
Unsheath your sword, and duș him presently-
Edward, kneel down.

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

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,

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

stay. North. Be it with resolution then to fight.

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lors, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick,

Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for

grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?

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

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted heir by his consent :
Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear,
You-that are king, though he do wear the crown,-
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif. And reason too ;
Who should succeed the father, but the son ?

Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, I cannot speak !

Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any be the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Ruland, was it

not? Clif: Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. IPar. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the

crown? 2. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ?

dare you speak ? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.

War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thines Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. '7'was not your valour, Clifford, drove me

thence. Norih. 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-swoln 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, 2. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips K. Hein. I priythee, give no limits to my tongue ;

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I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.

And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.
Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting

Enter Edward, running.

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle Cannot be curd by wonls ; therefore be still.

death! Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:

For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. By him that made us all, I am resolvid, That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of

Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?

Enter George.
A thousand men have broke their fasts today,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair ;
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
For York in justice puts his armour on.

What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly?
Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is

Edw, Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; right,

And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Enter Richard. Rick. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyTor, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

self? l. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Buc like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,-
Rich. lion of Naples, hid with English gilt, Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
Whose father bears the title of a king,

So underneath the belly of their steeds, (As if a channel should be calld the sea)

That staind their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,
Sham'st thou pot, knowing whence thou art extraught, | The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood :
Edre. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
To make this shameless callet know herself. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

And look upon, as if the tragedy
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd Were playd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
By that false woman, as this king by thee.

Here on my knee I vow to God above,
His father revel'd in the heart of France,

I'll never pause aguin, never stand still,
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop ; Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
And, had he match'd according to his state,

Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
He might have kept that glory to this day:

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thide'; But, when he took a beggar to his bed,

And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;

And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
Even then that sunshine brewd a shower for him, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.

Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands,
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? That to my foes this body must be prey,-
Hadst thon been meek, our title still had slept; Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Had slipp'd our elaim until another age.

- Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy

Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. spring,

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand, and, gentle WarAnd that thy summer bred us no increase,

wick, We set the axe to thy usurping root:

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :-And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, Yet, know thou, since we haye begun to strike, That winter should cut off our spring-time so. We'll never leave, till we bave hewn thee down,

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; And give them leave to fly that will not stay; Not willing any longer conference,

And call them pillars, that will stand to us ;
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.

And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
Sound trumpets !-- let our bloody colours wave!- As vietors wear at the Olympian games :
And either victory, or else a grave.

This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 2. Mar. Stay, Edward.

For yet is hope of life, and victory: Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer stay: Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt. These words will cost ten thousand lives today.


SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the Field.

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. SCENE III.- A Field of Battle between Towton and

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : Sa.rton in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excursions. En

Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
ter Warwick.

And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
I lay me down a little while to breathe :

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, This is the land, that stabb'd thy father York ; Have robb'd my strong knit sinews of tbeir strength, And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland:

And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, May yet ere niglit yield both my life and thera
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother, To some man else. as this dead man doth me.-
To execute the like upon thyself;

Who's this ?- O God! it is my father's face,
And so, have at thee.

Whom in this conftict I unwares have kill'd. (Thcy fight. Warwick enters ; Clifford flies.


O heavy times. begetting such events!
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; From London by the king was I pressid forth;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. (Exeurit. My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
SCENE V.- Another part of the field. Alarum. Er

Caine on the part of York, pressd by his master;
ter King Henry.

And I, who at his hands received my life,

Have by my bands, of life bereaved him.K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,

Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did !When dying clonds contend with growing light;

And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.

And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,

K. Hen. Opiteous spectacle ! O bloody times! Fored by the tide to combat with the wind;

Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea

Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Forc'd to retire, by fury of the wind:

Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind :

And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
Now, one the better; then, another best;

Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief.
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :

Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body
So is the equal poise of this fell war.

in his arms. Here on this mole-hill will I sit me down.

Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me, To whom God will, there be the victory!

Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

For I have bought it with an hundred blows.Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both,

But let me see-Is this our foeman's face? They prosper best of all when I am thence.

Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! 'Would I were dead ! it God's good will were so:

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, For what is in this world, but grief and woe?

Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart.

0, pity, God, this miserable age!To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

What stratagems, bow fell, how butcherly, Thereby to see the minules how they run:

Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, How many make the hour full complete,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! How many hours bring about the day,

O boy, thy father gave the life too soon, How many days will finish up the year,

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! How many years a mortal inan may live.

K. Hen. Woe abore woe! grief more than common When this is known then to divide the times :

grief! So many hours inust I tend my flock;

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate ;

O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white, are on his face, So many hours must I sport myself;

The fatal colours of our striving houses : So many days my ewes have been with young ;

The one, his purple blood right well resembles ; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;

The other, his pale cheeks, methinks. present. So many years ere I shall shear the fleece;

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,

If you contend. a thousand lives must wither. Pass'd over 19 the end they were created,

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet! how lovely! Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
Gives not the bawthorn bush a sweeter shade

Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ?
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful

chances, To kings, that ftar their subjects' treachery?

Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied ! O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.

Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? And to conclude,- the shepherd's homely curds,

Path. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ? His cold thin drink out of his leather butlle,

K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe: His wonted sleep under a fresh træe's shade,

Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so inneh. All which secure and sweetly he enjoy's,

Son. I'll bear thee henee, where I may weep my fu. Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

[Exit with the body. His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding His body couched in a curious bed,

sheet; When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; AlariEnter a Son that has killed his Father, drag. For from my lieart thine image ne'er shall go. ging in the dead Body.

My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody- And so obsequious will thy father be,
This nian, whom hand to hand i slew in fight, Sad for the loss of tiee, having no more,
May be possessed with some store of crowns :

As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
And I, that haply take them from him now,

I'll bear thee luence; and let them fight that will,

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