Queen. Off with his head and fet it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales. A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their Power. I EDWARD. Wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd, Or whether he be 'fcap'd away, of no, Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; How fares my brother? why is he fo fad? And watch'd him, how he fingled Clifford forth; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, 5 Methinks 'tis PRIZE enough to be bis fon.] The old quarto reads PRIDE, which is right, for ambition. i. e. We need not aim at any higher glory than this. WARBURTON. I believe prize is the right word. Richard's fenfe is, though we have miffed the prize for which we fought, we have yet an honour left that may con tent us. And 1 And takes her farewel of the glorious fun; How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trim'd like a yonker prancing to his love? Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see three funs? Rich. Three glorious funs, each one a perfect fun; Not feparated with the racking clouds, But fever'd in a pale clear-fhining sky. See, fee, they join, embrace and seem to kiss, Edw. 'Tis wondrous itrange, the like yet never heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; Rich. Nay, bear three daughters.-By your leave, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger. But what art thou, whofe heavy looks foretel Mef. Ah! one that was a woful looker on, And takes ber farenwel of the glorious fun.] Aurora takes for a time her farewel of the fun, when the difmiffes him to his diurnal courfe. 7 Blazing by our meeds.] Il luftrious and fhining by the ar- Edw. Edw. Oh, fpeak no more! for I have heard tod much. Rich Say, how he died; for I will hear it all. By many hands your father was fubdu❜d, Of fweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford flain: Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, And treacherously haft thou vanquish'd him ; For, hand to hand, he would have vanquifh'd thee. Now my foul's palace is become a prifon : Ah, would the break from hence, that this my body For never henceforth fhall I joy again, Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture For felf-fame wind that I should speak withal, And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. Edw. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee: His dukedom and his chair with me is left. Rich. If thou be that princely Eagle's bird, SCENE II. March. Enter Warwick, Marquis of Montague, War. How now, fair Lords? what fare? what news abroad? Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told; The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant Lord, the Duke of York is flain. Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! That Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly as his foul's redemption, Is by the ftern Lord Clifford done to death. War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things fith then befaln. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gafp, Tidings as fwiftly as the poft could run, Were brought me of your lofs and his depart. I then in London, keeper of the King, Mufter'd my Soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, March'd towards St. Albans t'intercept the Queen, Bear your Bearing the King in my behalf along; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends. Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle War- And when came George from Burgundy to England? From your kind aunt, Dutchefs of Burgundy, Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled; Like the night-orvi's lazy flight.] This image is not very congruous to the fubject, nor was it neceffary to the comparifon, which is happily enough compleated by the threfher. Oft |