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Unreasonable creatures feed their young :
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their youngs' defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child, -
What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,

To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,-
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son;
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson, Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

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Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: For, with a band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; And, in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign you battle, for they are at hand.

Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field;

The queen hath best success when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel

for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

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Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted heir by his consent:

Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
You that are king, though he do wear the
crown,-

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 son?
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 sort.

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 sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? dare you speak?

When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis

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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 my right or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thow 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 There is no wrong, but every thing is right. right, Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam;

But like a foul misshapen stigmatick,

Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

boy!

As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

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 callet 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 revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop;
And had he match'd according to his state,
He might 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 sunshine brew'd a shower 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?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept :
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Enter RICHARD.

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn

thyself?

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Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance:
And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd, -
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,·
Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
So underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:

I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd 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 given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;

And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.

Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,

spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe 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;
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.

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.

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Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay;

These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile.

Enter EDWARD, running.

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! 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 GEORge.

Geo. 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?
Edu. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings:
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit,

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 heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; —and, gentle
Warwick,

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lord farewell.

Geo. Let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars, that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games : This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life, and victory. — Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The same. Another Part of the Field.

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and
brother,

To execute the like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee.

[They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.

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war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind:
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
"Would I were dead! if God's good will were so:
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I cóntemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece;
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.

And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father, dragging in the dead body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me.Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.

O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. -
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.

K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity,-
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear;
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with
grief.

Enter a Father,

who has killed his Son, with the body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted the, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with an hundred blows.-But let me see:-is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!O, pity, God, this miserable age!-What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! →→ O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than com-
mon grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!--
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!-
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one, his purple blood right well resemble:;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my 500,
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?
K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful
chances,
Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?
Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son?
K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects"

woe?

Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep m fill. [Exit, with the b Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding

sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
[Exit, with the body

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with | Command an argosy to stem the waves.

care,

Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds ·
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence remain.
Ere. Away! for vengeance comes along with
them :

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter ;

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

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[Exeunt.

A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Chf. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, More than my body's parting with my soul. My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth: And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father, and his father, did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left no mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? Bondless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds: No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight; The foe is merciless, and will not pity; Por, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint: Cone, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints. Earum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, Montague, WarwICK, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ;—
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,

But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

[CLIFFORD groans, and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;

Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the

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Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth; 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager
words.

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to
York.

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou

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And, having France thy friend thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be:
For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
And never will I undertake the thing,

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ACT III.

SCENE I.— A Chace in the North of England. Enter Two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands. 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;

For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow

Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's

fee:

This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.' Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities:

For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

1 Keep. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more. L. Ken. My queen, and son, are gone to France

for aid;

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
To wife for Edward: If this news be true,
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,

And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
For she's a woman to be pity'd much :
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give:

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She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry;
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says - her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says ·
his Edward is install'd;
That she poor wretch, for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength;
And, in conclusion, wins the king from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support king Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?

K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was

born to:

A man at least, for less I should not be ; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with

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