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The lamb will never cease to follow him.

[Shout within A Lancaster! a Lancafter ! s Exe. Hark, hark, my Lord, what shouts are these?

Enter King Edward, and bis Soldiers.

K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him

hence, And once again proclaim us King of England. -You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow, Now stops thy spring, my sea shall suck them dry, And swell so much the higher by their ebb. -Hence with him to the Tower, let him not speak.

[Ex. with King Henry, And, Lords, to Coventry bend we our course, Where peremptory Warwick now remains. The sun shines hot; and if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hop'd for hay.

Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares : Brave warriors, march amain tow'rds Coventry.


2 Shout within. A Lancaster ! did not write the marginal diSurely the shouts that ushered rections, and the players conking Edward should be a York, founded the charaders. a rork. I suppose the authour

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Before the Town of Coventry. Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Mefe

fengers and others, upon the walls.



HERE is the Post, that came from valiant

Oxford ?
How far hence is thy Lord, mine honest fellow ?

1 Mes. By this ar Dunsmore, marching hither-ward. War. How far off is our brother Montague ? - Where is the Post, that came from Montague ? 2 Mes. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

Enter Somerville. War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving fon? And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somerv. At Soutbam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here fonie two hours hence.

War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

Somerv. It is not his, my Lord; here Soutbam lies. The drum your Honour hears, marcheth from War

wick. War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd for

friends. Somerv. They are at hand, and you shall quickly


March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester,

and Soldiers.

K. Edw. Go, trumpet to the walls, and found a



Glo. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War. Oh, unbid spight! is sportful Edward come?
Where Dept 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,

Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy,
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up, and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.
Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said the

Or did he make the jest 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 service for so good a gift.

War. 'Twas I that gave the Kingdom to thy brother.
K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's

War. Thou art no Atlas for so 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 prisoner ;
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 while he thought to steal the single ten,
The King was Nily 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 ? Strike now, or else the iron cools.
War. I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,


And with the other Aing it at thy face,
Than bear so low a fail, to strike to thee.
K. Edw. Sail, how thou canst; have wind and tide

thy friend ;
This hand fast wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust 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 !
Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.

K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us battle:
If not, the city being of small defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the same.

War. o, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

Enter Montague, with drum and colours.

Mont. Montague! Montague ! for Lancaster !
Glo. Thou and thy brother both, shall buy this

Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory : My mind prefageth happy gain and conquest.

Enter Somerset, with drum and colours.
Som. Somerset ! Somerset! for Lancaster ;

Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have fold their lives unto the House of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.


Enter Clarence, with drum and colours. War. And lo! where George of Clarence fweeps

along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle, 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[A Parley is founded ; Richard and Clarence whisper

together; and then Clarence takes his red rose out of

bis hat, and throws it at Warwick. ] } Cla. 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

his blood * to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so + blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother, and his lawful King ? Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath; To keep that oath were more impiety, Than jephthab's, when he facrific'd his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made, That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; With resolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee, As I will meet thee, if thou ftir abroad, To plague thee for thy foul mis-leading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. -Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

3 À Parley is founded, &c.] Look, here, I throw my Infamy This Note of Direction I restor

THEOBALD. ed from the old Quarto. And, * to lime the fones] That without it, it is imposible that is, to cement the stones. Lime any Reader can guess at the makes mortar. Meaning of this Line of Cla

Blunt.] Stupid, insensible

of paternal fondness. VOL. V.



at Thee.

rence ;

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