Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken : I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year Rich. No; God forbid your Grace should be forfworn! York. I fhall be, if I claim by open by war. Rich. I ll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me fpeak. York. Thou canst not, fon; it is impoffible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took That hath authority o'er him that fwears. Thou, Richard, fhalt to th' Duke of Norfolk go, You, Edward, fhall unto my Lord of Cobham, And yet the King not privy to my drift, Nor any of the houfe of Lancaster? Enter Messenger. But stay, what news? why com'ft thou in fuch post? Me. The Queen, with all the northern Earls and Intends here to befiege you in your caftle She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; And therefore fortify your hold, my Lord. [Lords, York. Ay, with my fword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague fhall post to London. Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour. The army of the Queen means to befiege us. Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the field. York. What, with five thousand men? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's General; what fhould we fear? [A march afar off. Edo. I hear their drums : let's set our men in order, And iffue forth, and bid them battle ftrait. York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one : Why fhould I not now have the like fuccefs? SCENE [Alarum. Exeunt. V. A field of battle betwixt Sandal-caftle and Wakefield. Enter Rutland and his Tutor. Rut. Ah, whither, fhall I fly to 'fcape their hands? Ah, Tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes. Enter Clifford, and Soldiers. Clif Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life; As for the brat of this accurfed Duke, Whofe father flew my father, he shall die. Tutor. And I, my Lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce. Tutor. Ah, Clifford! murther not this innocent child, Left thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, dragg'd off. Clif. How now? is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him clofe his eyes? I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And fo he walks infulting o'er his prey, And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder. Ab, gentle Clifford ! kill me with thy fword, And not with fuch a cruel threat'ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die : I am too mean a fubject of thy wrath; Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy: my father's blood Hath ftopt the paffage where thy words fhould enter. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge fufficient for me : No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, Is as a fury to torment my foul : Rut. O let me pray before I take my death: pray fweet Clifford, pity me. Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou lay me?" Clif. Thy father hath. Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou haft one fon, for his fake pity me; Left in revenge thereof (fith God is juft) He be as miferably flain as I. Ah, let me live in prifon all my days; Then let me die; for now thou haft no cause.. Thy father flew my father, therefore die. [Clif. ftabs him. Rut. Dii faciant laudis fumma fit ifta tuæ * ! [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet ! And this thy fon's blood cleaving to my blade 8 CENE VI. Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York. York The army of the Queen hath got the field : My uncles both are flain in refcuing me, And all my followers to the eager foe, Turn back, and fly like fhips before the wind, In blood of those that had encounter'd him: Richard cry'd, Charge! and give no foot of ground; With this we charg'd again : but out! alas, Ah! hark, the fatal followers do pursue :- Here must I stay, and here my life must end.. Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the Prince of Wales, and folaiers. Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, Ovid. I dare your quenchlefs fury to more rage: North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heav'n, Why come you not? what! multitudes and fear? York Oh, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand caufes I would prolong a while the traitor's life: Wrath makes him deaf. Speak thou, Northumberland. North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him fo much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart. What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might fpurn him with his foot away?! It is war's praise to take all 'vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. Clif. Ay, ay; fo ftrives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney ftraggle in the net. [In the struggle York is taken prisoner. Tork. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield with robbers fo o'er-match'd North. What would your Grace have done unto him: now? Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come make him ftand upon this mole-hill here, |