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SCENE VI. The same. A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Cliff. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 0, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, More than my body's parting with my soul. My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough conmixtures welt. Impairing Henry, strength’ning mis-proud York, The common people swarm like summer flies: And whither fly the guats, but to the sun? And who shines now, but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father, and his father, did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; 1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left no mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenily? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: 'The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. The air bath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:-Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; I stabb’d your father's bosom, split my breast.
[He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us
pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ;-
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape :
[Clifford groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
Edw. 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 Clifford ; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, duke of York.
War. From off' the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's lead, which Clifford placed there : Instead whereof, let this supply the room; Measure for measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[Attendants bring the Body forward. War. I think his understanding is bereft:Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?-Dark cloudy death o'ersliades his beams of life, And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.
Rich. O'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
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 royal king. From whence shall Warwick cat the sea to France, And ask the lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yel look to have them buz, to offend thine ears. First, will I see the coronation; And then to Britany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; And never will I undertake the thing, Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster :And George, of Clarence;-Warwick, as ourself, Shall do, and undo, as bim pleaseth best.
Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. [Gloster;
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation; Richard, be duke of Gloster : Now to Loudon, To see these honours in possession.
SCENE I. A Chase in the North of ENGLAND. Enter two Keepers, with Cross-bows in their Hands. 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud
2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : And, for the time shall not seem tedious, l'll tell thee what befell me on a day, In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
2 Keep. Here eomes a man, let's stay till he be past. Enter King Henry, disguised, with a Prayer-Book.
K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrong from thee, Thy balın wash'd off, wherewith thou wast auoinled:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar pow,
1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.
K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities; For wise men say, it is the wisest course.
2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. 1 Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.
K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France for And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick [aid ; Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward : If this news be true, Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account, then, Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much : Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn i Aud Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear, and see, her plaints, her briuish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give: She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry; He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says-her Henry is depos’d; He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more : Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and supporl king Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. (queens
2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk’st of kings and
K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was born A man at least, for less I should not be;
[to: And men inay talk of kings, and why not I?