« EdellinenJatka »
* And the premised1 flames of the last day
* Knit earth and heaven together!
* Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
* Particularities and petty sounds
* To cease!2—Wast thou ordained, dear father,
* To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve ** The silver livery of advised age;
* And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
* To die in ruffian battle ?—Even at this sight,
* My heart is turned to stone; and, while 'tis mine,
* It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
* No more will I their babes: tears virginal
* Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
* And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
* Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
* Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
* Meet I an infant of the house of York,
* Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
* As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
* In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
'Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house.
[Taking up the body. c As did jEneas old Anchises bear, c So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
* But then iEneas bare a living load,
* Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit.
Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, fightings and Somerset is killed.
Rich. So, lie thou there;—
1 Premised is sent before their time.
2 To cease is to stop; a verb active.
3 The death of Somerset here accomplishes that equivocal prediction of Jourdain, the witch, in the first act.
* Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still;
* Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others, retreating.
'Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!
* K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens^ good Mar
* Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight,
* Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
* To give the enemy way; and to secure us
* By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off
* If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
* Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape, *(As well we may, if not through your neglect,) *We shall to London get, where you are loved;
* And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, *May readily be stopped.
Enter Young Clifford.
Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
* I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; *But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
* Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.1
* Away, for your relief! and we will live
* Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt,
1 Parts may stand for parties; it may be also an error for party.
SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans.
Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York, RichArd Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colors.
'York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him;
* That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets
* Aged contusions and all brush of time ;1
* And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,2
* Repairs him with occasion? This happy day *Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
* If Salisbury be lost.
* Rich. My noble father
4 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 4 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, 4 Persuaded him from any further act; 6 But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
* And like rich hangings in a homely house,
* So was his will in his old feeble body.
* But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
* Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day; 'By the mass, so did we all.—I thank you, Richard. 'God knows how long it is I have to live; 4 And it hath pleased him that three times to-day 'You have defended me from imminent death.—
* Well, lords, we have not got that which we have ;3
* 5Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
* Being opposites of such repairing nature.
1 Warburton would substitute "all bruise of time;" but, as Steevens observes, "the brush of time" is the gradual detrition of time.
2 i. e. the height of youth; the brow of a hill is its summit
3 i. e. we have not secured that which we have acauired.
'York. I know our safety is to follow them; 'For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 'To call a present court of parliament. < Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth.— 4 What says lord Warwick? shall wre after them?
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can. Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day; Saint Albans' battle won by famous York, Shall be eternized in all age to come.— Sound, drums and trumpets,—and to London all; And more such days as these to us befall! [Exeunt.