But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
0, ten times more,—than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen a hapless father's tears :
This cloth thou dipp’dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this :

[He gives back the Handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed !-
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my

curse ;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads !

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
' I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum-

berland ? Think but upon

he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

[Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

[Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.

[Dies. R. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [Excunt.

the wrong

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in

Herefordshire.

*

Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their

Forces, marching. • Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; * Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, * From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; * Had he been ta’en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;

Or, had he scap'd, methinks, we should have heard * The happy tidings of his good escape.• How fares my brother ? why is he so sad ?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolvid Where our right valiant father is become.

I saw him in the battle range about; . And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.

Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, As doth a lion in a herd of neat :9 * Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs ; * Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, , * The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. * So far'd our father with his enemies; * So fled his enemies my warlike father ; • Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son, See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!'

a

a

.

I

* How well resembles it the prime of youth,
* Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds,' But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. * Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never

heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, • Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, *And over-shine the earth, as this the world.

Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns. * Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;-by your leave

I speak it, * You love the breeder better than the male.

2

Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?

Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, When as the noble duke of York was slain, * Your princely father, and my loving lord. • Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too foes;

*

6

6

• Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. • Mess. Environed he was with

many * And stood against them as the hope of Troy 3

Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. * But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; * And many strokes, though with a little axe, * Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd gak. By many hands your

father was subdu'd; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm • Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : · Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite; * Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept, * The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, • A napkin steeped in the harmless blood • Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: • And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, • The saddest spectacle that e'er I view’d.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! * O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain * The flower of Europe for his chivalry; * And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, * For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd

thee!Now my soul's palace is become a prison : Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body • Might in the ground be closed up in rest : * For never henceforth shall I joy again, "Neyer, O neyer, shall I see more joy.

• Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: * Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; * For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, * Js kindling coals, that fire all my breast, * And burn me up with flames, that tears would

quench. * To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: • 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, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGU E, with

Forces.

War. How now, fair lords ? What fare? what

news abroad? • Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, 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 slain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.4