Unreasonable creatures feed their young : Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 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? | Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, Who should succeed the father but the son? 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, 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? crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? Had slipp'd our claim until another age. Enter RICHARD. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? 3 Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 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, And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 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 : I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : 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: To execute the like upon thyself; [They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind: To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, So many days my ewes have been with young; And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, 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! K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! 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- O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!-- Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my 500, 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 ; 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. Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds · Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Not that I fear to stay, but love to go [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. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? [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 War. From off the gates of York fetch down the Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, Rich. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth; 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. And, having France thy friend thou shalt not dread And then to Britany I'll cross the sea, 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. 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 And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry; 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 |