A CT V. SCENE I

Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Meffengers and others upon the Walls.

War.

is

Here is the Poft that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy Lord, mine honeft Fellow? 1 Mef. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. War. How far off is our Brother Montague? Where is the Poft that came from Montague?

2 Mef. By this at Daintry, with a puiffant Troop.

Enter Somervile..

War. Say Somervile, what fays my loving Son? And by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? Somerv. At Southam I did leave him with his Forces, And do expect him here fome two hours hence. War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his Drum. Somerv. It is not his, my Lord, here Southam lyes: The Drum your Honour hears, marcheth from Warwick: War. Who fhould that be? Belike, unlook'd for Friends.

Somer. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucefter, and Soldiers,

K. Edw. Go, Trumpet, to the Walls, and found a Parle, Glo. See how the furly Warwick mans the Wall. War. Ch unbid Spight, is fportful Edward come? Where flept our Scouts, or how are they feduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair?

K. Edw. Now Warwick, wilt thou ope the City Gates
Speak gentle Words, and humbly bend thy Knee,
Call Edward King, and at his Hands beg Mercy,
And he fhall pardon thee these Outrages?

War. Nay rather, wilt thou draw thy Forces hence,
Confefs who fet thee up, and pluck'd thee down,
Call Warwick. Patron, and be penitent,

S 5

And

And thou fhalt ftill remain the Duke of York.

Glo. I thought at least he would have faid the King, Or did he make the Jeft against his will?

War. Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly Gift? Glo. Ay, by my Faith, for a poor Earl to give: I'll do thee fervice for fo good a Gift?

War. 'Twas I that gave the Kingdom to thy Brother.
K. Edw. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's Gift.
Glo. Thou art no Atlas for fo great a weight:
And Weakling, Warwick takes his Gift again,
And Henry is my King, Warwick his Subject.
K. Edw. But Warwick's King is Edward's Prifoner:
And gallant Warwick, do but answer this,
What is the Body, when the Head is off?

Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But whiles he thought to fteal the fingle Ten,
The King was flily finger'd from the Deck:
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's Palace,
And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even fo, yet you are Warwick still.
Glo. Come Warwick,

Take the time, kneel down, kneel down:
Nay when; ftrike now, or elfe the Iron cools.
War. I had rather chop this Hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy Face,
Than bear fo low a Sail, to ftrike to thee.
K. Edw. Sail how thou canft,

Have Wind and Tide thy Friend,

This Hand, faft wound about thy Coal-black Hair,
Shall, whiles thy Head is warm, and new cut off,
Write in the Duft this Sentence with thy Blood,
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.

Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

War. O chearful Colours, fee where Oxford comes.
Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster.

Gio. The Gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other Foes may fet upon our Backs.
Stand we in good Array; for they no doubt

Wil

Will iffue out again, and bid us Battel:
If not, the City being but of fmall defence,
We'll quickly rouze the Traitors in the fame.
War. Oh welcome Oxford, for we want thy help.

Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.

Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster.

Glo. Thou and thy Brother both fhall buy this Treafon Even with the deareft Blood your Bodies bear. K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater Victory, My Mind prefageth happy Gain, and Conqueft.

Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.

Som. Somerfer, Somerset, for Lancaster.

Glo. Two of thy Name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have fold their Lives unto the Houfe of York,
And thou fhalt be the third, if this Sword hold.

Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.

War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his Brother Battel: 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.

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

I will not ruinate my Father's House,

Who gave bis Blood to lime the Stones together,
And fet up Lancafter. Why, troweft thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is fo harth, 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 Jepthah's, when he facrific'd his Daughter
I am fo forry for my Trefpafs made,
That to deferve well at my Brother's Hands,
I here proclaim my felf thy mortal Foe:
With Refolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee,

(As

(As I will meet thee, if thou ftir Abroad,)
To plague thee for thy foul mif-leading me.
And fo proud-hearted Warwick, I defie thee,
And to my Brother turn my blufhing 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 belov❜d,
Than if thou never had'ft deferv'd our Hate.

Glo Welcome, good Clarence, this is Brother-like.
War. O paffing Traitor, perjur'd and unjuft.
K. Edw. What Warwick,

Wilt thou leave the Town and fight?

Or fhall we beat the Stones about thine Ears?
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:

I will away towards Barnet presently,

And bid thee Battel, Edward, if thou dar'ft.

K. Edw. Yes Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords to the Field; St. George and Victory

March. Warwick and his Company follows.

[Exeunt.

Alarum and Excursions. Enter Edward bringing forth Warwick wounded.

K. Edw. So, lye thou there; die thou, and die our fear, For Warwick was a Bug that fcar'd us all.

Now Montague fit faft, I feek for thee,

That Warwick's Bones 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 ask that my mangled Body fhews,

My Blood, my want of Strength, 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 whose shade the ramping Lion flept,

Whole top-branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading Tree,
And kept low Shrubs from Winter's powerful wind.

Thefe

Thefe Eyes that now are dim'd with Death's black Veil,
Have been as piercing as the Mid-day Sun,

To fearch the fecret Treafons of the World:
The wrinkles in my Brows, now fill'd with Blood,
Were lik'ned oft to Kingly Sepulchres ::

For who liv'd King, but I could dig his Grave?ay
And who durft fmile, when Warwick bent his Brow?
Lo, now my Glory smear'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 puiffant Power,
Even now we heard the News: Ah, could't 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 Soul 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 spoke,
Which founded like a Cannon in a Vault,
That mought not be diftinguifh'd; but at laft,
I well might hear delivered with a Groan,

O farewel Warwick.

War. Sweet reft his Soul;

Fly Lords, and fave your felves,

For Warwick bids you all farewel, to meet in Heaven. [Dies. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great Power. Here they bear away his Body.

[Exeunt.

Flourif.