And thou shalt be the third, if this fword hold.

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours.

[long,

War. And lo, where George of Clarence fweeps aof force enough to bid his brother battle: With whom an upright zeal to right prevails. More than the nature of a brother's love. Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt if Warwick call. [A parley is founded; Richard and Clarence whisper together; and then Clarence takes his red rofe out of his hat, and throws it at Warwick.

Clar, Father of Warwick, know you what this means? Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.

I will not ruinate my father's houfe,

(Who gave his blood to lime the stones together),
And fet up Lancaster. Why, trow't thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is fo harsh, fo blunt, unnatural,

To bend the fatal inftruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Jephtha's when he facrific'd his daughter.
I am fo forry for my trespass made,

That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
With refolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee if thou ftir abroad),
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And fo, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults;
For I will henceforth be no more unconftant.

K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more Than if thou never hadit deferv'd our hate. [belov'd, Glo, Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like. War. O paffing traitor, perjur'd and unjust !

K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?

Or fhall we beat the ftones about thine ears?

War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence; I will away towards Barnet prefently.

And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.

Lords, to the field; St George and victory! [Exeunt. [March. Warwick and his company follow.

SCENE III. A field of battle near Barnet.

Alarum and excurfions. Enter Edward, bringing forth Warwick wounded.

[fear;

K Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our
For Warwick was a bug that scar'd us all.
Now, Montague, fit faft, I feek for thee,

That Warwick's hones may keep thine company. [Exit.
War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick?
Why afk. I that? my mangled body fhews,

My blood, my want of ftrength, my fick heart fhews,
That I muft yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conqueft to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the ax's edge,

Whofe arms gave fhelter to the princely eagle;
Under whofe fhade the ramping lion slept,

Whofe top branch overpeer'd Jove's fpreading tree,
And kept low fhrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.

Thefe eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,

To fearch the fecret treafons of the world.

The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to kingly fepulchres:

For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave?

And who durft fmile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo! now my glory fmear'd in duft and blood,
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forfake me; and of all my

lands

Is nothing left me but my body's length.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and duft? And live we how we can, yet die we must.

Enter Oxford and Somerfet.

Som. Ah! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, We might recover all our lofs again:

The Queen from France hath brought a puiffint pow'r;
Even now we heard the news. Ah, cou'dit thou fly!
War. Why, then I would not fly. -Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, fweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my foul a while.
Thou lov'ft me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glews my lips, and will not let me speak,
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gafp cry'd out for Warwick:
And faid, Commend me to my valiant brother.
And more he would have faid, and more he fpoke,
Which founded like a clamour in a vault,
That might not be distinguish'd; but at last
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,
O, farewel, Warwick!

War. Sweetly reft his foul!

Fly, Lords, and fave yourselves; for Warwick bids You all farewel, to meet again in heaven.

[Dies.

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power. [They bear away his body and exeunt.

Changes to another part of the field.

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Glou cefter, Clarence, and the reft.

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward courfe
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But, in the midft of this bright-fhining day,
1 fpy a black, fufpicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious fun,
Ere he attain his eafeful western bed:

I mean, my Lords, thofe powers that the Queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coaft,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
Clar. A little gale will foon difperfe that cloud,
And blow it to the fource from whence it came.
Thy very beams will dry thofe vapours up;
For every cloud ingenders not a storm.

Glo. The Queen is valued thirty thousand ftrong,

And Somerfet, with Oxford, fled to her.

If fhe hath time to breathe, be well affur'd,
Her faction will be full as ftrong as ours.

K. Ed. We are advertis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their courte tow'rd Tewksbury. We having now the best at Barnet field,

Will thither faight; for willingness rids way:
And as we march, our ftrength will be augmented
In every county as we go along :

Strike up the drum, cry, Courage! and away. [Exeunt.

March. Enter the Queen. Prince of Wales, Somerfet. Oxford, and foldiers.

Queen. Great Lords, wife men ne'er fit and wail their
But chearly feek how to redrefs their harms. [lofs,
What though the maft be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding-anchor loft,
And half our failors fwallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot ftill. Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the fea,

And give more ftrength to that which hath too much;
While in his moan the fhip fplits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have fav'd?
Ah, what a fhame! ah, what a fault were this!
Say Warwick was our anchor, what of that?
And Montague our top-maft, what of him?
Our flaughter'd friends, the tackle, what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ?
And Somerfet another goodly mast ?

The friends of France our flirouds and tacklings ftill ?
And though unfkilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm to fit and weep,

But keep our courfe (though the rough wind fay, No)
From fhelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck :
As good to chide the waves, as fpeak them fair.
And what is Edward, but a ruthless fea?
What Clarence, but a quick-fand of deceit ?
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?

All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say you can fwim, alas, 'tis but a while;
Tread on the fand, why, there you quickly fink;
Beftride the rock, the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
This fpeak I, Lords, to let you understand,
In cafe fome one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers,
More than with ruthlefs waves, with fands, and rocks
Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant fpirit
Should, if a coward heard her fpeak the.e words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity,

And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this, as doubting any here:
For did I but fufpect a fearful man,

He should have leave to go away betimes;
Left, in our need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any fuch be here, (as God forbid !)
Let him depart before we need his help.

Oxf. Women and children of fo high a courage!
And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual fhame.
Oh, brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee; long may't thou live,
To bear his image, and renew his glories!

Som. And he that will not fight for fuch a hope,
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day,
If he arife, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

Queen. Thanks, gentle Somerfet; fweet Oxford,

thanks.

[elfe. Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing

Enter a Meffenger.

Me. Prepare you, Lords, for Edward is at hand, Ready to fight; therefore be refolute,

Oxf. I thought no lefs; it is his policy,
To hafte thus faft to find us unprovided.

Som. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readinefs. [nefs.
Queen. This cheers my heart, to fee your forward-
Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not budge.