To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'a booty;

So true men yield,, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

North. What would your grace have done unto him now?

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched

arms,

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.What! was it you, that would be England's king?

Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent ?
Where are your mess of sons to hack you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling
voice,

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?

Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the blood

That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy :
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.

I pr'ythee grieve, to make me merry, York; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,

That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:

York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York;-and, lords, bow low to him.

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

[Putting a paper Crown on his Head.
Ay, marry, Sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with
death,

flonest men. 1 Reached. 1 Haudkerchief.

And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath ?
Oh! 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !-
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, bia
head;

And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. +

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,

Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth,

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay proud queen, to make thee blush;

To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,

Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless,

Thy father bears the type t of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud
queen ;

Unless the adage must be verified,
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to
death

'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small;
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government ý that makes them seem di-
vine ;

The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,

Or as the south to the septentrion. []
O tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, [child,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, 1emorse-
less,
[wish :
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast
thy will:

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obse-
quics;

And every drop cries vengeance for his death,

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French-woman.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions

me so,

move

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd

with blood

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'st 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;
Impale, encircle with a crown. ↑ Kill him
The distinguishing mark.
Government, in the language of the time, signified
evenness of temper, and decency of manners.
The North.

Sufferings.

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 slaughterman 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 Northumberland ?

Think but upon the wrong 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. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.

news;

Or, had he 'scaped, 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 resolved
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: +

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 fared 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! ‡
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?

That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds, *
Should notwithstanding, join our lights to

gether,

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.

Enter a MESSENGER.

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Mess. Ah! one that was a woeful 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 much.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

Mess. Environed he was with many foes;
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy +
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 oak.
By many hands your father was subdued;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high de-
spight;

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 I

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 !

For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flanies, 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 bath left with thee:

His dukedom and his chair with me is le
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eag.e
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.

And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breathed his latest

gasp,

Tidings, as swiftly as the post could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of
friends,

wrap our bodies in black mourning

gowns,

Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
you out:
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumber-

land,

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 our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your succes-

sion.

I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,—
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled the king unto the queen ;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and my-
self,

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. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick ?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

War. Some six miles off the duke is with the

soldiers;

And for your brother, he was lately sent,
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick filed.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;

For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine

Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's

head,

pro

With all the friends that thou, brave earl of
March,
Amongst the loving Welchmen canst
cure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! To London will we march amain:
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes!
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, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
lean;

And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!)

Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of

York;

The next degree is, England's royal throne;
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he, that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,-
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel,

(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God and
Saint George for us!

Enter a MESSENGER.
War. How now? What news?
Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word
by me,

The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors:
Let's away.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Before York.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the Prince of WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces.

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave

town of York:

• Lofty.

Killed.

Yonder's the head of that arch enemy,

That sought to be encompass'd with your

crown:

Doth no: the object cheer your heart, my lord? K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ;

To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Not wittingly have I infringed my vow.

Clif. My gracious liege, 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 their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? Not his, that spoils her young before her 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 safeguard of their brood.

Ambitious York did leve! 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 blessed with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving 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 wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful
flight,)

Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's de. fence?

For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

Were it not pity, that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault?

And long hereafter say unto his child,What my great-grandfather and grand-sire got,

My careless father fondly gave away?
Ah! what a shame were this! Look on the
boy;

And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with
him.

K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll 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 brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah! cousin York! 'would thy best friends did

know,

How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits! Our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood to our forward son; Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.— Edward, kneel down.

K. Hen. 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.

Henry was a very amiable and pious monarch: be founded the munificent college of Eton; and also King's College, Cambridge. ↑ Foolishly.

Clif. Why, that is spokon like a toward priuce.

Enter a MESSENGER.

Mess. 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: D'arraign your battle for they are at hand. Clif. I would your highness would depart the field;

The queen hath best success when you are absent.

Q. Mar. Ay, good, my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble

lords,

And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry St. George!

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Sol diers.

Edw. Now, perjured Henry! Wilt thou kneel for grace,

And set thy diadem upon my head;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
Q. Mar. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting
boy!

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his

knee;

fight.

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

Q. Mar. Why, how now long-tongued Warwick? Dare you speak?

When you and I met at St. Alban's last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
thine.

Clif. You said so much before, and yet you filed.

War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay.

Rich.

Northumberland, I hold thee reve