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Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif. And reason too.
Who should succeed the father, but the fon?

Rich. Are you there, butcher?-O, I cannot speak.

Clif. Ay, Crook back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy fort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it

not? Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy’d. Rich. For God's take, Lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the

crown? Queen. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick,

dare you 1peak ? When you and I met at St. Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.

. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. Clif. You said fo much before, and yet you fied. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me

thence. North. No, nor your manhood, that durft make

you stay.
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

-Break off the parle, for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child killer.

Clif. I New thy father, call'st thou him a child ?

Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward, As thou didnt kill our tender brother Rutland; But, ere fun-fct, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Henry, Have done with words, my Lords, and

hear me speak. Queen. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Henry. I pr’ythee, give no limits to my tongue ; I am a King, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My Liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here

Can

Cannot be cur’d by words; therefore be still.

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd *
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown,

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head!
For York in justice puts his armour on.
Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is

right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands, For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Queen. But thou art neither like thy fire nor dam,
But like a foul mil-Ihapen stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venomous toads, or lizards' dreadful ftings.

Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a King,
As if a channel should be call'd the sea,
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
+ To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?
Edw. ' A wisp of straw were worth a thousand

crowns,
To make this shameless Callar know herself.
-Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this King by thee.
His father revelld in the heart of France,
And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop,

I am resolv’d] It is my which thou railest at my defirm persuasion; I am no longer formity. in doubt.

9 A wisp of fraw.) I suppose + To let shy tongue detect] To for an instrument of correction how thy meannels of birth by that might disgrace but not hurt she indecency of language with her.

And

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And had he matcht according to his State,
He night have kept that glory to this day,
But when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor Sire with his bridal day,
Even then that lun-shine brew'd a show'r for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his Crown at home,
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadít thou been meek, our Title still had slept.
And we, in pity of the gentle King,
Had nipt our claim until another age.
Cla. But when we saw, our fun-shine made thy

spring,
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the ax to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave 'till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy Growing with our heated bloods.

Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee 3
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou

deny'st the gentle King to speak. --Sound trumpets, let our bloody colours wave, And either Victory, or else a Grave.

Queen. Stay, Edward

Edw. No, wrangling Woman, we'll no longer stay. These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

(Exeunt omnes.

? We saw our sun-fhine made we received no advantage from thy spring,

thy fortune flourishing by our And :hat thy summer bred us no favour, we then resolved to de

increase.) When we faw Atroy thee, and determine to try that by favouring thee we made some other means, though our thee grow in fortune, but that first efforts have failed.

SCENE

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Changes 19 a Field of Battle at Ferribridge in Yorkshire.

War. F -as ,

Alarm. Excurhons. Enter Warwick. War.

I lay me down a little while to breathe, For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb’d my strong-knit finews of their strengt!; And, spight of spight, needs must I rest a while.

Enter Edward running, Edw. Smile, gentle heav'n! or strike, ungentle

death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good?

Enter Clarence.
Cla, Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly?

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot fun pursuit,

Enter Richard. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thy

felf? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

Broach'd

• Thy Brother's Blood the thirsty Salisbury, Warwick's Father.

Earth hath drunk,] This But this was a notorious Devia. Passage, from the Variation of tion from the Truth of History. the Copies, gave me no little for the Earl of Salisbury in the Perplexity. The old 4to applies Battle at Wakefield, wherein Richa this Description to the Death of ard Duke of York los his Life,

was

Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance,
And in the very pangs of death he cry'd,
(Like to a dismal ciangor heard from far)
Warwick, revenge ; brother, revenge my

death.
So underneath the belly of their steeds,
That Itaio'd their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,
The noble Gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the Earth be drunken with our blood;
I'll kill my horle, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like loft-hearted women here,
Wailing our lofies, whiles the fue doth rage,
And look upon, as if the Tragedy
Were plaid in jest by counterfeiting Actors ?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either Death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or Fortune give me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul with thine. And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou Setter up, and Plucker down, of Kings! Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heav'n may ope, And give sweer passage to my sinful soul. Now, Lords, take leave until we meet again ; Where-e'er it be, in heaven or on earth.

was taken Prisoner, beheaded at The truth is, the Brother here Pomfret, and his Head, together mention'd, is no Person in the with the Duke of York's, fix'd Drama : and his Death is only over York-gates. Then, the only an incidental Piece of History. Brother of Warwick, introduc'd Consulting the Chronicles, upon in this Play, is the Marquess of this A&ion at Perribridge, I find Montacule; (or Mountague, as he him to have been a na:ural Son is call'd by our Author :) but he of Salisbury, (in that respect, a does not dye, till ten years after, Brother to Warwick;) and elin the Baitle at Barnet; where teem'd a valiant young GentleWarwick likewise was ki!l'd. man.

THEOBALD.

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