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Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll 'venge thy death,
Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee: His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Shew thy defcent, by gazing 'gainst the fun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, fay,
Either they're thine, or else thou wert not his.

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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 fhould recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv’rance 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 flain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly as his foul's redemption, Is by the ftern Lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd thefe news in tears: And now to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things fith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gafp, Tidings, as fwiftly as the post could run, Were brought me of your lofs and his depart. I then in London, keeper of the King, Muster'd my foldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, March'd towards St Alban's t'intercept the Queen. Bearing the King in my behalf along :

For by my feouts I was advertised

That he was coming, with a full intent
To dafh our late decree in parliament,
Touching King Henry's oath, and your fucceffion.
Short tale to make, we at St Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both fides fiercely fought.
But whether 'twas the coldness of the King,

Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queen,
That robb'd my foldiers of their hated spleen ;
Or whether 'twas report of her fuccefs,

Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death;
I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,
Their weapons, like to lightning came and went ;
Our foldiers, like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy threfher with a flail,

Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with juftice of our cause,
With promife of high pay and great reward.
But all in vain: they had no heart to fight;
And we, in them, no hope to win the day:
So that we fled; the King, unto the Queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In hafte, post-hafte, are come to join with you ;
For in the marches here we heard you were,
Making another head to fight again.

[wick? Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle WarAnd when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some fix miles off the Duke is with his power; And for your brother, he was lately fent

From your kind aunt, Duchefs of Burgundy,
With aid of foldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds belike when valiant Warwick fled; Oft have I heard his praises in purtuit,

But ne'er, till now, his fcandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, doft thou hear :
For thou fhalt know this ftrong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful fceptre from his fift;

Were he as famous and as bold in war,
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 fpeak.
But in this troublous time what's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our beads?
Or fhall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the laft, fay, Ay; and to it, Lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out:
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, Lords: the proud infulting Queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the eafy-melting King, like wax.
He swore confent to your fucceffion,

His oath inrolled in the parliament:
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To fruftrate both his oath, and what befide
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,

With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welchmen canft procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand;
Why, via! to London will we march amain;
And once again beftride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry, Charge upon our foes!-
But never once again turn back and fly.

Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick Ne'er may he live to fee a fun-fhine day, [speak. That cries, Retire,- -if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy fhoulder will I lean, And when thou fail'ft, (as God forbid the hour!), Muft Edward fall; which peril heav'n forefend! War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; The next degree is England's royal throne: For King of England fhalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along: And he that throw's not up his cap for joy. Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head, King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown; But found the trumpets, and about our task. Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou haft fhewn it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Edw. Then ftrike up, drums; God and St George for us!

VOL. V.

K

Enter a Messenger.

War. How now? what news?

Me. the Duke of Norfolk fends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puiffant hoft,

And craves your company for speedy counsel.

War. Why then it forts; brave warriors, let's away. [Exeunt omnes.

SCENE

III. Changes to York.

Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, and the Prince of Wales, with drums and trumpets.

Queen. Welcome, my Lord, to this brave town of Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy

That fought to be incompafs'd with your crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart my Lord?

[York.

K Henry. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their To fee this fight it irks my very foul:

[wreck;

With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor 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 caft their gentle looks?
Not to the beaft that would ufurp their den.
Whofe hand is't that the foreft bear doth lick?
Not his that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'fcapes the lurking ferpent's mortal fting?
Not he that fets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,
And doves will peck in fafeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

Thou fmiling while he knit his angry brows.
He but a Duke, would have his fon a King,
And raife his iffue like a loving fire:

Thou being a King, blefs'd with a goodly fon,
Didft yield consent to difinherit him;
Which argu'd thee a moft unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young,
And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

Who hath not feen them (even with thofe wings
Which fometimes they have us'd with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their neft,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For fhame, my Liege, make them your precedent.
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy
Should lofe his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,
What my great-grandfather and grandfire got,
My careless father fondly gave away
?

Ah, what a shame was this! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, fteel thy melting heart
To hold thine own, and leave thine own to him.
K. Henry. Full well hath 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 fuccefs?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my fon my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at fuch a rate,

As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in poffeffion any jot of pleasure.

Ah, coufin York, 'would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Queen. My Lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are nigh,

And this foft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward fon;
Unfheath your fword, and dub him prefently.
Edward, kneel down.

K. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arife a Knight; And learn this leffon, Draw thy fword in right. Prince. My Gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,

And in that quarrel ufe it to the death.

Clif. Why, that is fpoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Mejenger.

Me. Royal commanders, be in readiness;

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