sweet son;

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me, [me. The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd? [wretch! I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; And given unto the house of York such head, As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas;

The duke is made protector of the realm;

And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their
pikes,

Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my son is disinherited.

The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,

Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do I leave thee:-Come, son, let's away;
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me
speak.

Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field,

I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

[Exeunt Queen MARGARET, and the PRINCE. K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to her son,

Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle,
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son!
The loss of those three lords torments my
heart:

I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;-
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-A Room in Sandal Castle, near
Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, und MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.

York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

[took

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium, And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or

die.

Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.-
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.—
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.--
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth
But that I seek occasion how to rise; [more,
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
Enter a MESSENGER.

But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such post?

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,

Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st
thou, that we fear them?-
My brother Montague shall post to London:
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;-
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
[Exit.

not:

Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortime mine uncles!

* Of sound judgement.

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her
in the field.

York. What, with five thousand men?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a
need.

A woman's general; What should we fear? [A March afar off. Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in order;

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. York. Five men to twenty!-though the odds be great,

I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
Why should I not now have the like success?
[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle. Alurums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND, and

his TUTOR.

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands!

Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!

Enter CLIFFORD, and Soldiers.

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause?

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[CLIFFORD stabs him.

Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ!‡ [Dies.

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

SCENE IV.-The same.
Alarum.-Enter YORK.

York. The army of the queen hath got the field:

My uncles both are slain in rescuing ine;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced
[selves
But this I know,-they have demean'd them-

them:

thy life.

Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefather's graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor case my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore

[Lifting his hand. Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me! Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay me?

Clif. Thy father bath.

Rut. But 'twas ere i was born.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of
ground!

And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
4 sceptre! or an earthly sepulchre!
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
We bodg'd; again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching
A short Alurum within.
Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
And, were I strong, I would not shun their
fury:

waves.

The sands are number'd, that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end." Enter Queen MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantage-

me so,

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'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. Mur. 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.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

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?

Rica. 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 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;

Herefordshire.

Drums.-Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching.

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; Had he been ta'en, we would have heard the [news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the Or, had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard

news;

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 boret 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

spight; [wept, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he A napkin steeped in the harmless blood The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifforc 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.

slain:

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean