Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven doth figure some event.

Edw. I think it cites us, brother, to the field; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Already each one shining by his meed, May join in one, and overpeer the world As this the earth; and therefore, henceforward, I'll bear upon my target three fair shining suns. But what art thou that look st so heavily?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. O, one that was a woeful looker-on When as the noble duke of York was slain.

Edw. O, speak no more, for I can hear no more. Rich. Tell on thy tale, for I will hear it all. Mess. When as the noble duke was put to flight, And then pursued by Clifford and the queen, And many soldiers more, who all at once Let drive at him, and forced the duke to yield; And then they set him on a mole-hill there, And crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Who then with tears began to wail his fall. The ruthless queen, perceiving he did weep, Gave him a handkerchief to wipe his eyes, Dipp'd in the blood of sweet young Rutland, By rough Clifford slain: who weeping took it up. Then through his breast they thrust their bloody

swords,

Who like a lamb fell at the butchers' feet.
Then on the gates of York they set his head,
And there it doth remain the piteous spectacle
That ere mine eyes beheld.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone there is no hope for us:
Now my soul's palace is become a prison.
O, would she break from compass of my breast,
For never shall I have more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep, for all my breast's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning hate. I cannot joy till this white rose be died

Even in the heart-blood of the house of Lancaster. Richard, I hear thy name, and I'll revenge thy death, Or die myself in seeking of revenge.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

His chair and dukedom, that remains for me.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; For either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. Enter the Earl of WARWICK, MONTAGUE, with drum, Ancient, and Soldiers.

War. How now, fair lords: what fare? What news abroad?

Rich. Ah, Warwick, should we report The baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds. Ah, valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Edw. Ah, Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dear, ay, even as his soul's redemption,

Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd those news in tears: And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you news since then befallen. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the post could run,

Were brought me of your loss, and his departure.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd to St. Alban's to intercept the queen,
Bearing the king in my behalf along:
For by my scouts I was advértised

That she was coming, with a full intent
To dash your late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's heirs, and your succession.
Short tale to make-we at St. Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But, whether 't was the coldness of the king,
(He look'd full gently on his warlike queen)
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
Or whether 't was report of his success,
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captains-blood and death,
I cannot tell: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightnings went and came;
Our soldiers, like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
Fell gently down, as if they smote their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of the cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain, they had no hearts to fight,
Nor 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 haste, post haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here we heard you were
Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Thanks, gentle Warwick.

How far hence is the duke with his power?

And when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some five miles off the duke is with his

power.

But as for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers 'gainst this needful war.

Rich. "T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard thy praises in pursuit,
But ne'er, till now, thy scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou
hear:

For thou shalt know that this right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
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;

'T was love I bare thy glories made me speak.
But in this troublous time, what 's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And clad our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numbering our ave-maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say Ay, and to it, lords.
War. Why therefore Warwick came to find you
out;

And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy melting king like wax.
He sware consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;

But now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate his oath, or what besides
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power I guess them fifty thousand strong.
Now if the help of Norfolk and myself
Can but amount to eight and forty thousand,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Among the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Why via, to London will we march amain,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry charge upon the foe,
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 sunshine day

That cries retire, when Warwick bids him stay.

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean, And when thou faint'st,

Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend.

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; The next degree is England's royal king; And king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd, In every borough as we pass along : And he that casts not up his cap for joy Shall for the offence make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, But forward to effect these resolutions.

Yonder 's the head of that ambitious enemy
That sought to be impaled with your crown.
Doth not the object please your eye, my lord?

King. Even as the rocks please them that fear their wrack.

Withhold revenge, dear God! 't is not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious lord, 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 his (their) den.
Whose hand is that the savage bear doth lick?
Not his that spoils his young before his face.
Who '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 rescue 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,
Did'st give consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unnatural 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 same wings,

Which they have sometime used in fearful flight,)
Make war with him that climbs unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my lord, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright through his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,

What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?
Look on the boy, and let his manly face,
Which promiseth successful fortune to us all,
Steel thy melting thoughts,

To keep thine own, and leave thine own with him.
King. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But tell me, did'st thou never yet hear tell
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy ever was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I 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 asks a thousand times more care to keep,
Than may the present profit countervail.
Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve me that thy head stands there.
Queen. My lord, this harmful pity makes your
followers faint.

You promis'd knighthood to your princely son; Unsheath your sword, and straightway dub him knight.

Kneel down, Edward.

King. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight:
And learn this lesson,-draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
North. Why that is spoken like a toward prince.
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness:
For, with a band of fifty thousand men,
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
And in the towns whereas they pass along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
Prepare your battles, for they be at hand.

Cliff. I would your highness would depart the field:

The queen hath best success when your are absent. Queen. Do, good my lord, and leave us to our for

You that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
To blot our brother out, and put his own son in.
Clif. And reason, George:

Who should succeed the father but the son?

Rich. Are you there, butcher?

Cliff. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any of your sort.

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

Cliff. Yes, and old York too, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield thy crown?

Queen. What, long-tongued Warwick, dare you

speak?

When and I met at Saint Alban's last,

you

Your legs did better service than your hands.

War. Ay, then 't was my turn to fly, but now 't is thine.

Cliff. You said as much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

North. No, nor your manhood, Warwick, that could make ye stay.

Rich, Northumberland, Northumberland, we hold Thee reverently.

Break off the parley, for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big swollen heart,
Against that Clifford there, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. Why, I kill'd thy father: call'st thou him a
child?

Rich. Ay, like a villain, and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.

King, Have done with words, great lords, and hear me speak.

Queen. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. King. I prithee give no limits to my tongue; I being a king am privileg'd to speak.

Clif. My lord, the wound that bred this meeting

here

Cannot be cur'd with words; therefore be still.

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

Edw. What say st thou, Henry, shall I have my right or no?

A thousand men have broke their fast to-day,
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.
War. If thou deny, their bloods be on thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.

Prince. If all be right that Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but all things must be right.

Rich. Whosoever 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 misshapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom'd toads, or lizards' fainting looks.

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Thy father bears the title of a king,

As if a channel should be called the sea:

Sham'st thou not, knowing from whence thou art deriv'd,

To parley thus with England's lawful heirs?

Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make that shameless callet know herself. Thy husband's father revell'd in the heart of France, And tam'd the French, and made the dauphin stoop:

And had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory till this day.
But when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,
Then that sunshine bred a shower for him,
Which wash'd his father's fortunes out of France,
And heap'd seditions on his crown at home.
For what hath mov'd these tumults, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title yet had slept:
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Geo. But when we saw our summer brought thee gain,

And that the harvest brought us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root:

And though the edge have something hit ourselves,
Yet know thou we will never cease to strike
Till we have hewn thee down,

Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Nor willing any longer conference,
Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.
Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave!
And either victory, or else a grave.

Queen. Stay, Edward, stay.

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

(SCENE III.)

[Exeunt omnes.

Alarums. Enter WARWICK.

War. Sore spent with toil, as runners with the race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe:
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Hath robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
And, force perforce, needs must I rest myself.

Enter EDWARD.

Edw. Smile, gentle heavens! or strike, ungentle death!

That we may die unless we gain the day:
What fatal star malignant frowns from heaven,
Upon the harmless line of York's true house?

Enter GEORGE.

Geo. Come, brother, come; let's to the field again, For yet there's hope enough to win the day: Then let us back to cheer our fainting troops, Lest they retire now we have left the field. War. How now, my lords, what hap? what hope of good?

Enter RICHARD, running.

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

Thy noble father in the thickest throngs
Cried still for Warwick, his thrice valiant son,
Until with thousand swords he was beset,
And many wounds made in his aged breast;
And as he tottering sate upon his steed,
He waft his hand to me, and cried aloud,

Richard, commend me to my valiant son;'
And still he cried, Warwick, revenge my death,'
And with those words he tumbled off his horse,
And so the noble Salisbury gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with his blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly: And here to God of heaven I make a vow, Never to pass from forth this bloody field Till I am full revenged for his death.

Edw. Lord Warwick, I do bend my knees with thine,

And in that vow now join my soul to thee.
Thou setter up and puller down of kings,
Vouchsafe a gentle victory to us,

Or let us die before we lose the day!

Geo. Then let us haste to cheer the soldiers' hearts, And call them pillars that will stand to us, And highly promise to remunerate

Their trusty service in these dangerous wars.

Rich. Come, come away, and stand not to debate, For yet is hope of fortune good enough. Brothers, give me your hands, and let us part And take our leaves, until we meet again,

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

Now I that never wept, now melt in woe,

To see these dire mishaps continue so.

Warwick, farewell.

Alarums, and then enter RICHARD at one door, and
CLIFFORD at the other.

Rich. A Clifford, a Clifford,
Chf. A Richard, a Richard.

Rich, Now, Clifford, for York and young Rutland's death,

This thirsty sword, that longs to drink thy blood,
Shall lop thy limbs, and slice thy cursed heart,
For to revenge the murders thou hast made.

Clif. Now, Richard. I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their deaths,
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself,

And so, have at thee.

Alarums still, and then enter HENRY solus.

Hen. O gracious God of heaven, look down on us,
And set some ends to these incessant griefs.
How like a mastless ship upon the seas
This woeful battle doth continue still,
Now leaning this way, now to that side driven,
And none doth know to whom the day will fall.
Oh, would my death might stay these civil jars!
Would I had never reign'd, nor ne'er been king.
Margaret and Clifford chide me from the field,
Swearing they had best success when I was thence.
Would God that I were dead, so all were well:
Or would my crown suffice, I were content
To yield it them, and live a private life.

Enter a Soldier with a dead man in his arms.
Sol. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
This man, that I have slain in fight to-day,
May be possessed of some store of crowns,
And I will search to find them if I can.
But stay; methinks it is my father's face:
Oh, I! 'tis he whom I have slain in fight.
From London was I press'd out by the king;
My father he came on the part of York;
And in this conflict I have slain my father.

Oh pardon, God, I knew not what I did!
And pardon, father, for I knew thee not!

Enter another Soldier with a dead man.

2 Sol. Lie there, thou that fought'st with me so

stoutly;

Now let me see what store of gold thou hast.
But stay, methinks this is no famous face:
Oh no, it is my son that I have slain in fight!
Oh, monstrous times, begetting such events;
How cruel, bloody, and ironous,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
Poor boy, thy father gave thee life too late,
And hath bereav'd thee of thy life too soon!

King. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

Whilst lions war and battle for their dens,

Poor lambs do feel the rigour of their wraths:
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses.
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish,
For if you strive, ten thousand lives must perish.

1 Sol. How will my mother, for my father's death, Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!

2 Sol. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!

King. How will the people now misdeem their king!

Oh would my death their minds could satisfy!

1 Sol. Was ever son so rude his father's blood to

Here sits a king, as woebegone as thee.

Alarums, and enter the QUEEN.

Queen. Away, my lord, to Berwick presently! The day is lost, our friends are murdered; No help is left for us, therefore away.

Enter Prince EDWARD.

Prince. Oh father, fly; our men have left the

field;

Take horse, sweet father, let us save ourselves.

Enter EXETER.

Exet. Away, my lord, for vengeance comes along with him:

Nay, stand not to expostulate; make haste,
Or else come after: I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, stay, good Exeter, for I'll along with thee.

(SCENE VI.)

Enter CLIFFORD wounded, with an arrow in his neck.

Clif. Here burns my candle out,
That, whilst it lasted, gave king Henry light.
Ah Lancaster, I fear thine overthrow,

More than my body's parting from my soul.
My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee;
And now I die, that tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry strengthen'd misproud York:
The common people swarm like summer flies,
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemy?
Oh Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car had never scorch'd the earth.
And, Henry, hadst thou liv'd as kings should do,
And as thy father and his father did,
Giving no foot unto the house of York,

I and ten thousand in this woeful land
Had left no mourning widows for our deaths,
And thou this day hadst kept thy throne in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, no strength to hold out flight;
The foe is merciless and will not pity me,
And at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
The air is got into my bleeding wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest,
I stabb'd your fathers, now come, split my breast.
Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, WARWICK, and Soldiers.
Edw. Thus far our fortunes keep an upward

course,

And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
Some troops pursue the bloody minded queen,
That now towards Berwick doth post amain.
But think you that Clifford is fled away with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape;
For though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave,
And, wheresoe'er he be, I warrant him dead.
[CLIFFORD groans, and then dies.
Edw. Hark! what soul is this that takes his heavy
leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departure.

Edw. See who it is: and now the battle 's ended, Friend, or fee, let him be friendly used.

Rich. Reverse that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford, Who kill'd our tender brother Rutland, And stabb'd our princely father, duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there:
Instead of that, let his supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

That nothing sung to us but blood and death;
Now his evil-boding tongue no more shall speak.
War. I think his understanding is bereft.

"Tis hard when Clifford cannot ford his friend an oath:

By this I know he's dead: And by my soul,
Would this right hand buy but an hour's life,
(That I in all contempt might rail at him)
I'd cut it off, and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain, whose instanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
War. Ay, but he 's dead: Off with the traitor's
head,

And rear it in the place your father's stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's lawful king.
From thence shall Warwick cross the seas to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen.

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together,
And having France thy friend, thou need not dread
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again.
And though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them busy (buz) to offend thine

ears.

First, I'll see the coronation done,

And afterward I'll cross the seas to France,
To effect this marriage, if it please my lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, good Warwick, let it be.
But first before we go, George, kneel down.
We here create thee duke of Clarence,
And girt thee with the sword;

Our younger brother, Richard, duke of Gloster. Warwick as myself shall do and undo as himself pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War. Tush, that's a childish observation. Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these honours in possession.

[Exeunt omnes.