Norf. And I to Norfolk with my Followers. Enter the Queen, and the Prince of Wales. Exe. Here comes the Queen, Whose looks bewray her anger: K. Henry. Exeter so will I: ; [Going. Queen. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: K. Henry. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet Son; The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me. 1 Queen. Enforc'd thee? art thou King, and wilt be forc'd? I shame to hear thee speak; ah timorous Wretch! Thou hast undone thy felf, thy Son, and me, And given unto the House of York such head, As thou shalt Reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his Heirs unto the Crown, What is it, but to make thy Sepulchre, And creep into it far before thy time ? Warwick is Chancellor, and the Lord of Calais, Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow Seas, The Duke is made Protector of the Realm, And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling Lamb, invironed with Wolves. Had I been there, which am a filly Woman, The Soldiers should have tofs'd me on their Pikes, Before I would have granted to that A&. But But thou preferr'st thy Life before thine honour. Whereby my Son is disinherited. The Northern Lords, that have forsworn thy Colours, K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. gone. K. Henry. Gentle Son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? Queen. Ay, to be murther'd by his Enemies. Prince. When I return with Victory from the Field, I'll fee your Grace; 'till then I'll follow her. Queen. Come, Sor, away, we may not linger thus. [Exeunt Queen and Prince. K. Henry. Poor Queen, [Exit. Enter Richard, Edward, and Mountague. Enter the Duke of York. York. Why, how now Sons and Brother, at a strife ? What is your Quarrel? how began it first? Edw. No Quarrel, but a flight Contention. York. About what? Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us, The Crown of England, Father, which is yours. York. York. Mine, Boy? not 'till King Henry be dead. York. I took an Oath, that he should quietly Reign. Edw. But for a Kingdom any Oath may be broken: I would break a thousand Oaths to Reign one Year. Rich. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn. York. I shall be, if I claim by open War. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. York. Thou can'st not, Son, it is impossible. こ Rich. An Oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful Magistrate, That hath Authority over him that Swears. York. Richard, enough: I will be King, or die. And yet the King not privy to my drift, Nor any of the House of Lancaster. Enter Gabriel. But stay what News? why com'st thou in such post? Gab. The Queen, With With all the Northern Earls and Lords, And thus most humbly I do take my leave. : [Exis Montague, Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer. You are come to Sandal in a happy hour. Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the Field. York. What, with five thousand Men? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, Father, for a need. A Woman's General; what should we fear? Edw. I hear their Drums : Let's set our Men in order, [A march afar off. And issue forth, and bid them Battel streight. York. Five Men to twenty, though the odds be great, I doubt not, Uncle, of our Victory. Many a Battel have I won in France, When as the Enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like Success? [Alarum. Enter Rutland and his Tutor. Rut. Ah, whether shall I flie, to scape their Hands? Ah, Tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes. Enter Clifford. Exit. Clif. Chaplain, away, thy Priesthood saves thy Life; As for the Brat of this accurfed Duke, Whose Father flew my Father, he shall die. Tutor. And I, my Lord, will bear him Company. Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 1 Tutor. Ah Clifford, murther not this innocent Child, Left thou be hated both of God and Man. Clif. How now? is he dead already? Or is it fear that makes him close his Eyes? I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up Lyon o'er the wretch, Cliff. In vain thou speak'st, poor Boy: Rut. Then let my Father's Blood open it again, He is a Man, and, Clifford, cope with him. [Exit. Clif. Had I thy Brethren here, their Lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me : 14 Rut. O let me pray before I take my Death: Rut. But 'twas e'er I was born. Thou hast one Son, for his fake pity me, Ah, let me live in Prison all my Days, Then |