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

Mef. 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.

I

Clif. I would, your highnefs would depart the
field;

The queen hath beft fuccefs when you are abfent.
Quen. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our
fortune.
[I'll ftay.
K. Henry. Why, that's my fortune too : therefore
North. Be it with refolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer thefe noble
lords,

And hearten thofe that fight in your defence:
Unfheath your fword, good father; cry, Saint
George!

March. Enter Edward, Clarence, Richard, War-
wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel
for grace,

And fet thy diadem upon my head;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud infulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy fovereign, and thy lawful king?

Clif. You faid fo much before, and yet you fled.
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove
me thence.
[you stay.

North. No, nor your manhood, that durft make
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently;
Break off the parley; for fcarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart

Upon that Clifford there, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. I flew thy father; Call'ft thou him a child?
Ricb. Ay, like a daftard, and a treacherous
coward,

As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
But, ere fun-fet, I'll make thee curfe the deed.
K. Henry. Have done with words, my lords,
and hear me fpeak.
[lips.
Queen. Defy them then, or elfe hold close thy
K. Heny. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my
tongue;

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

Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,

Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be ftill.

Rich. Then, executioner, unfbeath thy fword;
By Him that made us all, I am refolv'd 3,`
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

Edw. Say, Henry, fhall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fafts to-day,
That ne'er fhall dine, unless thou yield the crown.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his For York in juftice puts his armour on.

knee;

I was adopted heir by his confent:

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 fon in.
Clif. And reafon too ;

Who fhould fucceed the father, but the fon?
Rich. Art thou there, butcher --O, I cannot
fpeak!

[thee, Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I ftand, to anfwer Or any he the proudest of thy fort.

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

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not fatisfy'd.
Rich. For God's fake, lords, give fignal to the
fight.
[the crown?
War. What fay'ft thou, Henry, wilt thou yield
Queen. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick?
dare you speak ?

When you and I met at Saint Alban's laft,
Your legs did better fervice than your hands 2.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis

thine.

Prince. If that be right, which Warwick fays is right,

There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother

That is, Renge your hoft. 2 Alluding to the proverb, "One pair of heels is worth two pair of bands." 3 i. c. it is my firm perfuation. AA figmatic is faid to have been a notorious lewd fella, who hath been burnt with a hot iron, or beareth other marks about him as a token of his punishment. 5 Gilt is a fuperficial covering of gold. 6 Mr. Steevens comments on this paffage thus: "Batrett in his Aleurie, or Quadruple Dillionary, 1580, interprets the word wifpe by penicul is, which i nifies any thing to wipe or cleanfe with; a cook's linen apron, &c. Pewter is ill fcoured by aut of fraw, or hay. Perhaps, Edward means one of thefe wips, as the denotement of a mental fervant. Barrett adds, that, like a wafe, it fignifics" a wreath to be laied under the veffel that is bone upon the head, as women uf." If this be its true fenfe, the prince may think that fuch a wifp would better become the head of Margaret, than a crown." Mr. Steevens afterwards adds, that a pe was the punishment of a foold.” 7 Callat, a lewd woman, a diab.

Cla. But, when we faw our fun-fhine made 'Till either death hath clos'd thefe eyes of mine, Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

* i. e. wafted, tired. 2 To fore-flow implies to be dilatory, to loiter.

Rr 3

war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the fhepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now fways it this way, like a mighty fea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind:
Now fways it that way, like the self-fame fea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:
Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
Now, one the better; then, another beit:
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poife of this fell war.

Here on this mole-hill will I fit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; fwearing both,
They profper beft of all when I am thence.
'Would I were dead! if God's good will were fo:
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely fwain;
To fit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to fee the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the time:
So many hours muft I tend my flock;
So many hours muft I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate ;
So many hours muft I fport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many months ere I fhall fheer the fleece :
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Paft over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how iweet! how
lovely!

Gives not the hawthorn bufh a fweeter fhade
To fhepherds, looking on their filly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their fubjects' treachery?
O, yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude,-the fhepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted fleep under a fresh tree's fhade,
All which fecure and fweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

His viands fparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, miftruft, and treafon waits on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that had killed bis Father.
Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body.
This man, whom hand to hand I flew in fight,
May be poffeffed of fome ftore of crowns:
And 1, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To fome man elfe, as this dead man doth me.—
Who's this?-Oh God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.
Oh heavy times, begetting fuch events!
From London by the king was I prefs'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, prefs'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.-
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee !-
My tears shall wipe away thefe bloody marks;
And no more words, 'till they have flow'd their
fill.

K. Henry. O piteous fpectacle! O bloody times!
Whilft lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.-
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with
grief.

Enter a Father, bearing his Son.
Fath. Thou that so stoutly haft resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou haft any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.—
But let me fee :-Is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only fon !--

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eye; fee, fee, what fhowers arife,
Blown with the windy tempeft of my heart
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
O, pity, God, this miferable age !—
What itratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget !→→
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late 2 !
K. Henry. Woe above woe! grief more than
common grief!

2

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!-
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!-

The red rose and the white are on his face,

The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one, his purple blood right well resembles;
The other, his pale cheek, methinks, prefenteth :
Wither one rofe, and let the other flourish !
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be fatisfy'd !

Fath. How will my wife, for flaughter of my fon, Shed feas of tears, and ne'er be fatisfy'd ?

K. Henry. How will the country, for these woeful chances,

Mif-think 3 the king, and not be fatisfy'd ?

The meaning of the king is, that the flate of their hearts and eyes fhall be like that of the kingdom in a civil war, all shall be deftroyed by a power formed within themfelves. 2 i. e. He thould have done it by not bringing thee into being, to make both father and fon thus miferable. mi-think is to think ill, unfavourably.

3 To

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
Fath. Was ever father, fo bemoan'd his fon ?
K. Henry. Was ever king, fo griev'd for fub-
jects' woe?

And thou this day had'ft kept thy throne in peace. For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? Bootlefs are plaints, and curelefs are my wounds; Much is your forrow; mine, ten times fo much. No way to fly, nor ftrength to hold out flight: Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep The foe is mercilefs, and will not pity; my fill. [Exit, with the body. And, at their hands, I have deferv'd no pity. Fath. Thefe arms of mine fhall be thy wind-The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

with care,

Here fits a king more woeful than you are.
Alarums. Excurfions. Enter the Queen, Prince of
Wales, and Exeter.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: [fled,
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Queen. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick
poft amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in fight,
With fiery eyes, fparkling for very wrath,
And bloody fteel grafp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exe. Away for vengeance comes along with
them :

Nay, ftay not to expoftulate, make speed;
Or elle come after, I'll away before.

[Exeter;
K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good fweet
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward; away

SCENE VI.

[Exeunt.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.
Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,
Which, while it lafted, gave king Henry light.
Ah, Lancaster! I fear thine overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my foul.
My love and fear glew'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,
Impairing Henry, ftrength'ning mif-proud York.
The common people fwarm like fummer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the fun?
And who thines now, but Henry's enemy?
O Phoebus! hadft thou never given confent
That Phaeton fhould check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car had never fcorch'd the earth :
And, Henry, hadft thou fway'd as kings should do,
And as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the houfe of York,
They never then had fprung like fummer flies-
I, and ten thoufand in this lucklefs realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our deaths,

And much effufe of blood doth make me faint :--
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the reft;
I ftabb'd your father's bofoms, split my breaft.

[He faints.
Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, Clarence,
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune
bids us paufe,
[looks.-
And fmooth the frowns of war with peaceful
Some troops purfue the bloody-minded queen ;---
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a fail, fill'd with a fretting guft,
Command an argofy to ftem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford flew with them?
War. No, 'tis impoffible he should escape :
For, though before his face I fpeak the word,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And, wherefoe'er he is, he's furely dead.

[Clifford groans, and dies. Edw. Whose foul is that which takes her heavy [parting.

leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's deEdw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis

Edw. Bring forth that fatal fcritch-owl to our
That nothing fung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall ftop his difmal threatening found,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

[Attendants bring the body forward.
War. I think his understanding is bereft :--
Say, Clifford, doft thou know who speaks to thee Pas
Dark cloudy death o'erfhades his beams of life,
And he nor fees, nor hears us what we fay.

Rich. O, would he did! and fo, perhaps, he doth; 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid fuch bitter taunts

As in the time of death he gave our father.
Cla. If fo thou think'ft, vex him with eager

words.

2

Rich, Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. ́
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devife excufes for thy faults.
Cla. While we devife fell tortures for thy faults.
2 i. c. Sour, harsh words.
Riche

1 Obfequious here implies careful of obfequies, or of funeral rites.

Rr 4

now?

Rich. Thou didit love York, and I am fon to York.
Edw. Thou pitied'ft Rutland, I will pity thee.
Cla. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you
[waft wont.
War. They mock thee, Clifford; fwear as thou
Rich. What, not an oath ? nay, then the world
goes hard,

When Clifford cannot fpare his friends an oath :--
I know by that, he's dead; And, by my foul,
Would this right hand buy but an hour's life,
That I in all defpight might rail at him,
I'd chop it off; and with the iffuing blood
Stifle the villain, whofe unftanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not fatisfy. [head,
War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's
And rear it in the place your father's ftands.--
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
From thence fhall Warwick cut the fea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen :
So fhalt thou finew both thefe lands together;

And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rife again;
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
Firft, will I fee the coronation;
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, fo it please my lord. [be;
Edro. Even as thou wilt, fweet Warwick, let it
For on thy fhoulder do I build my feat;
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counfel and confent is wanting.-
Richard, I will create thee duke of Glofter ;-
And George, of Clarence ;-Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth beft.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George,
of Glofter;

For Glofter's dukedom is too ominous 1.

War. Tut, that's a foolish obfervation: Richard, be duke of Glofter: Now to London, To fee thefe honours in poffeffion.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

A Wood in Lancashire.

ACT III.

Enter Sinklo, and Humphrey, with craft-bows in . their bands.

Sink.

UNDE

NDER this thick-grown brake we'll
throud ourselves;
For through this 3 laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our ftand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.

Ham. I'll stay above the hill, fo both may fhoot.
Sink. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will fcare the herd, and fo my fhoot is loft.
Here ftand we both, and aim we at the best :
And, for the time fhall not feem tedious,
⚫'ll tell thee what befel me on a day,
In this felf place where now we mean to ftand.
Hon. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be paft.

Enter King Henry, with a prayer-book.

K. Henry. Let me embrace thefe four adverfities;
For wife men fay, it is the wifett courfe.
Hum. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
Sink. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more.
K. Henry. My queen, and fon, are gone to France
for aid;

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's fifter
To wife for Edward: If this news be true,
Poor queen, and fon, your labour is but loft;
For Warwick is a fubtle orator,
And Lewis a prince foon won with moving words.
By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
For fhe's a woman to be pity'd much :

Her fighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tyger will be mild, while fhe doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorfe,
To hear, and fee, her plaints, her brinith tears.
Ay, but the's come to beg; Warwick, to give :

K. Heasy. From Scotland am I flol'n, even of She, on his left fide, craving aid for Henry;

pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wifhful fight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy fcepter wrung from thee,

He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and fays--her Henry is depos'd;
He fmiles, and fays-his Edward is inftail'd;
That the, poor wretch, for grief can fpeak no more;

Thy balm warh'd off, wherewith thou waft anoint-Whiles Warwick tells his title, fmooths the wrong,

No bending knee will call thee Cetar now, [ed:
No humbie fuitors preis to fpeak for right,
No, not a man comes for redrefs to thee;
For how can I help them, and not my elf? [fee:
Sink. Ay, here's a deer whote fkin's a keeper's
This is the quandam king; let's feize upon him.

Inferreth arguments of mighty ftrength;
And, in conclufion, wins the king from her,
With promife of his fifter, and what elfe,
To ftrengthen and support king Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor foul,
Art then forfaken, as thou went'ft forlorn.

Aluling, perhaps (fays Mr. Steevens), to the deaths of Thomas of Woodflock, and Humphrey. dukes of Clofter. 2 According to Hall and Holinfhed, the name of the person who took K. Henry was Contlawe. 3 .e. liar.