Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?

King did I call thee? no, thou art not king:
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,

Which darʼst not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
That head of thine doth not become a crown;
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine;
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
Is able with the change to kill and cure.
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,
And with the same to act controlling laws.
Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler.
Som. O monstrous traitor!-I arrest thee, York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown:
Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

York. Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask of these,

If they can brook I bow a knee to man.-
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;

[Exit an Attendant. I know, ere they will have me go to ward,

They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, say, if that the bastard boys of York

To

Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those That for my surety will refuse the boys.

Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET, with Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also, Old CLIFFORD and his Son.

See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it good.

Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail.
Clif. Health and happiness to my lord the king!

[Kneels. York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news with

thee?

Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; -For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do :To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious
humour

Makes him oppose himself against his king,
Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
And chop away that factious pate of his.
Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey;
sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
York. Will you not, sons?

His

Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
I am thy king, and thou a false-beart traitor.-
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
That, with the very shaking of their chains,
They may astonish these fell lurking curs;
Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me.

Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with
Forces.

Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to

death,

And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,

If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.

Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld; Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw, Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd: And such a piece of service will you do,

If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.

K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to

bow?

Old Salisbury,-shame to thy silver hair,

Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!—
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?

O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ?-
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
And shame thine honourable age with blood?
Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me,
That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself
The title of this most renowned duke;
And in my conscience do repute his grace
The rightful heir of England's royal seat.

K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
Sal. I have.

K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin;

But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath.
Who can be bound by any solemn vow

To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
To wring the widow from her custom'd right;
And have no other reason for this wrong,
But that he was bound by a solemn oath?
Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,

I am resolv'd for death, or dignity.

Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm,
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,

Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, (As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear. Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels, and their 'complices.

Rich. Fye! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatick, that's more than thou canst tell.

Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.-Saint Albans.

Alarums: Excursions.

Enter Warwick.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now,-when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,— Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

Enter York.

How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot ?
York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;
But match to match I have encounter'd him,
And made a prey fór carrion kites and crows
Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.

Enter CLIFFord.

War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thou out some other chace,

For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.

As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,

It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

[Exit Warwick. Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and

esteem,

But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason.