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Norf. And I to Norfolk with my Followers.
Mount. And I unto the Sea from whence I came. (Exe.
K. Henry. And I with grief and sorrow to the Court.
Enter the Queen, and the Prince of Wales.
Exe. Here comes the Queen,
Whose looks bewray her anger:
I'll real away
K. Henry. Exeter so will I:
Queen. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee
K. Henry. Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay.
Queen. Who can be patient in such extreams?
Ah wretched Man! would I had dy'd a Maid,
And never seen thee, never born thee Son,
Seeing thou hast prov'd lo unnatural a Father.
Hath he deserv'd to lose his Birth-right thus ?
Hadst thou but lov'd him half so much as I,
Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
Or nourisht him, as I did with my Blood;
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest Heart-blood there,
Rather than made that Savage Duke thine Heir,
And difinherited thine only Son.
Prince. Father, you cannot difnherit me:
If you be King, why should not I succeed?
K. Henry. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet Son;
The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me.
Queen. Enforc'd thee? art thou King, and wilt be forc'd ?
I shame to hear thee speak; ah cimorous Wretch!
Thou hast undone thy self, 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,
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 thou preferr'st thy Life before thine honour.
And seeing chou doft, I here divorce my self,
Both from thy Table, Henry, and thy Bed,
Until that AX of Parliament be repealed,
Whereby my Son is difinherited.
The Northern Lords, that have forsworn thy Colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the House of York,
Thus do I leave thee; come Son, let's away,
Our Army is ready, come, we'll after them.
K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
Queen. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee 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 Vi&ory from the Field, I'll see 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,
How love to me, and to her Son,
Hath made her break out into terms of Rage.
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke,
Whose haughty Spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my Crown, and like an empty Eagle,
Tire on the Flesh of me, and of my Son.
The loss of thưse three Lords torments my Heart;
I'll write unto them, and intreat them fair;
Come, Coufin, you shall be the Messenger.
Exe. And I hope shall reconcile them all. [Exit.
Enter Richard, Edward, and Mountague.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.
Edw. No, I can better play the O ator.
Mount. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter the Duke of York.
Tork. Why, how dow Sons and Brother, at a strife?
Whac is your Quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No Quarrel, but a slight Contention.
Tork. About what?
Rich. About that which concerns your Grace and us,
The Crown of England, Father, which is yours.
Tork. Minc, Boy? not 'till King Henry be dead.
Rich. Your Right depends not on his Life, or Death.
Edw. Now you are Heir, therefore enjoy it now:
By giving the House of Lancaster leave to breathe,
It will out-run you, Father, in the end.
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.
Tork. I shall be, if I claim by open War.
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.
Tork. Thou can'st not, Son, it is impossible.
Rich. An Oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful Magistrate,
That hath Authority over him that Swears.
Henry had none, but did usurp the Place.
Then seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your Oath, my Lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore to Arms: and, Father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a Crown,
Within whose Circuit is Elysium,
And all that Poets feign of Bliss and Joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot reft,
Until the white Rose that I wear, be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm Blood of Henry's Heart.
York. Richard, enough: I will be King, or die.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And wher on Warwick to this Enterprize.
Thou, Richard, Thale go to the Duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.
You, Edward, Thall unto my Lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.
In them I trust; for they are Soldiers,
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of Spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more,
But that I feek occafion how to rise?
And yet the King not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the House of Lancaster.
But stay what News? why com'lt thou in such posts
Gab. The Queen,
With all the Northern Earls and Lords,
Intend here to beliege you in your Castle.
She is hard by, with twenty thousand Men;
And therefore fortifie your Hold, my Lord.
York. Ay, with my Sword.
What, think'st thou that we fear them?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me,
My Brother Montague shall post to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left Prote&ors of the King,
With powerful Policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not fimple Henry, nor his Oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go: I'll win them, fear it not.
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
[Exis Montagues Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine Uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour. The Army of the Queen means to besiege us.
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?
[A march afar off. Edw. I hear their Drums : Let's set our Men in order, And iffue forth, and bid them Battel streight.
Tork. Five Men to twenty, though the odds be great, I doubt not, Uncle, of our Vi&ory. Many a Battel have I won in France, When as the Enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I nit now have the like Success?
Enter Rutland and bis Tutor.
Rut. Ah, whether shall I Alie, to scape their Hands?
Ah, Tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.
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.
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,
That trembles under his devouring Paws: .
And so he walks, insulting o'er his Prey,
And so he comes to send his Limbs asünder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy Sword,
And not with such a cruel threatning Look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die':
I am too mean a subject of thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on Men, and let me live.
Cliff. In vain thou speak'st, poor Boy:
My Father's Blood hath stopt the passage
Where thy Words should enter,
Rur. Then let my Father's Blood open it again,
He is a Man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy Brethren here, their Lives and thine
Were not revenge fufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd up thy Fore-father's Graves,
And hung their rotten Coffins up
It could not fake mine Ire, nor ease my Heart.
The light of any of the House of York,
Is as a fury to torment my Soul:
And 'rill I root out their accursed Line,
And leave not one alive, I live in Hell.
Rut.. O let me pray before I take my Death:
To thee, I prayfweet Clifford, pity me.
Clif. Such pity as my Rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou flay me?
Clif. Thy Father hath.
Rut. But 'twas e'er I was born.
Thou hast one Son, for his fake pity me,
Left in revenge thereof, fith God is just,
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in Prison all my Days,
And when I give occasion of Offence,