Enter a Meffenger.`.

War. How now? What News?

Mef. The Duke of Norfolk fends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puiffsant Host,

And craves your Company for speedy Counfel.
War. Why then it forts, brave Warriors let's away.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northun berland,
and the Prince of Wales, with Drums and Trumpets.
Queen. Welcome, my Lord, to this brave Town of York,
Yonder's the Head of that Arch-enemy,

That fought to be encompast with your Crown.
Doth not the Obje& cheer your Heart, my Lord?

K. Henry, Ay, as the Rocks cheer them that fear their Wrack; To fee this fight it irks my very Soul:

With-hold Revenge, dear God, 'tis rot my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my Vow.

Clif. My gracious Liege, this too much Lenity
And harmless Pity must be laid afide:

To whom do Lions caft their gentle Looks?
Not to he Beast that would u'urp their Den.
Whole Hand is that the Foreft Bear doth lick?
Not his that spoils her young before her Face.
Who fcapes the lurking Serpent's mortal fting?
Not he that fets his Foot upon her Back.
The fmalleft Worm will turn, being trodden on,
And Doves will peck in fafeguard of their Brood.
Ambitious Tork did level at thy Crown,
Thou fmiling, while he knit his angry Brows.
He but a Duke, would have his Son a King,
And raise his Iffue like a loving Sire;
Thou being a King, bleft with a goodly Son,
Didft yield confent to difinherit him;
Which argued thee a moft unloving Father.
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 feen them even with thofe Wings,
Which fometimes they have us'd with fearful flight,
Make War with him that climb'd unto their Neft,
Offering their own Lives in their Young's Defence?

For

For Shame, my Liege, make them your Prefident:
Were it not pity, that this goodly Boy
Should lofe his Birth-right by his Father's Fault,
And long hereafter fay unto his Child,
What my great Grandfather and Grandfire got,
My careless Father fondly gave away.

Ah, what a Shame was this? look on the Boy,
And let his manly Face, which promiseth
Successful Fortune, fteel thy melting Heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
King. Full well hath Clifford plaid the Orator,
Inferring Arguments of mighty Force:
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got, had ever bad Succefs.
And happy always was it for that Son,
Whofe Father for his hoording went to Hell:
I'll leave my Son my virtuous Deeds behind,
And would my Father had left me no more:
For all the reft is held at fuch a Rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more Care to keep,
Than in Poffeffion any jot of Pleasure.

Ah Coufin York, would thy b. ft Friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy Head is here.

Queen. My Lord, cheer up your Spirits, our Foes are nigh,

And this foft Courage makes your Followers faint:
You promis'd Knighthood to our forward Son,
Unheath your Sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.

King. Edward Plantagenet, arife a Knight,
And learn this Leffon, 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 ufe it to the Death.

Clif. Why that is fpoken like a toward Prince.
Enter a Messenger.

Mef. 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 your Battel, they are near at hand.

Clif.

Clif. I would your Highness would depart the Field, The Queen hath beft Succefs when you are abfent.

Queen. Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our Fortune. K. Henry. Why that's my Fortune too, therefore I'll ftay. North. Be it with Refolution then to fight.

Prince. My Royal Father, cheer thefe Noble Lords, And hearten thofe that fight in your Defence: Unsheath your Sword, good Father; cry St. George. March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for Grace, And fet thy Diadem upon my Head;

Or bide the Mortal Fortune of the Field?

Queen. Go rate thy Minions, proud insulting Boy,
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in Terms,
Before thy Soveraign, and thy lawful King?

Edw. I am his King, and he should bow his Knee;
I was adopted Heir by his Confent;

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 fhould fucceed the Father, but the Son ?

Rich. Are you there, Butcher? O, I cannot speak. Clif. Ay, Crook-back, here I ftand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudeft of thy fort.

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not fatisfy'd.

Rich. For God's fake, Lords, give Signal to the Fight.
War. What fay'ft thou, Henry,

Wilt thou yield the Crown?

Queen. Why how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare you When you and I met at St. Albans last,

Your Legs did better Service than your Hands.

[fpeak?

War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
Clif. You faid fo much before, and yet you fled.

War. 'Twas not your Valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
North. No, nor your Manhood that durft make you ftay.
Rich. Northumberland. I hold thee reverently,

Break off the Parley, for fcarce I can refrain

The

The Execution of my big-fwolu Heart

Upon that Clifford, that cruel Child-killer,

Clif. I flew thy Father, call'ft thou him a Child? Rich. Ay, like a Daftard, and a treacherous Coward, As thou didst kill our tender Brother Rutland:

But e'er Sun fet, I'll make thee curfe the Deed.

K. Henry. Have done with Words, my Lords, and hear me speak.

Queen. Defie them then, or elfe hold close thy Lips.
K. Henry. I prithee give no Limits to my Tongue,
I am a King, and privileg'd to fpeak.

Clif. My Liege, the Wound that bred this Meeting here Cannot be cur'd by Words, therefore be still.

Rich. Then, Execution, re-unfheath thy Sword: By him that made us all, I am refolv'd

That Clifford's Manhood lyes upon his Tongue.

Edw. Say, Henry, fhall I have my right, or no : A thousand Men have broke their Fafts to Day, That ne'er fhall dine, unless thou yield the Crown. War. If thou deny, their Blood upon thy Head, For York in juftice puts his Armour on.

Prince. If that be right, which Warwick fays is right, There is no Wrong, but every thing is right.

War. Who ever got thee, there thy Mother ftands, For well I wot, thou haft thy Mother's Tongue. Queen. But thou art neither like thy Sire nor Dam, But like a foul mishapen Stigmatick,

Mark'd by the Deftinies to be avoided,

As venomous Toads, or Lizards dreadful Stings:
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English Gilt,
Whole Father bears the Title of a King,

(As if a Kennel should be call'd the Sea)

Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
To let thy Tongue detect thy bafe-born Heart.

Edw. A Wifp of Straw were worth a thousand Crowns, To make this fhameless Callet know her felf.

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 falle Woman, as this King by thee.
His Father revell'd in the Heart of France,

And

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 Sun-fhine 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 flept,
And we in Pity of the gentle King,

Had flipt our Claim until another Age.

Cla. But when we faw our Sunshine made thy Spring, And that thy Summer bred us no encrease,

We fet the Ax to thy ufurping Root;

And though the Edge hath fomething hit our felves,
Yet know thou, fince we have begun to ftrike,
We'll never leave, 'till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thee growing with our heated Bloods.
Edw. And in this Refolution I defie thee,
Not willing any longer Conference,
Since thou deny'dft the gentle King to fpeak.
Sound Trumpets, let our bloody Colours wave,
And either Victory, or else a Grave.
Queen. Stay, Edward

Edw. No, wrangling Woman, we'll no longer ftay.
Thefe Words will coft ten thoufand Lives this Day.

[Exeunt omnes.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick,

War. Fore-spent 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 rob'd my ftrong-knit Sinews of their Strength,
And fpight of fpight, needs muft I reft a while.

Enter Edward running.

Edw. Smile, gentle Heav'n; or ftrike, ungentle Death; For this World frowns, and Edward's Sun is clouded. War. How now, my Lord,what hap? What hope of good? Enter Clarence.

Cla. Our Hap is Lofs, our Hope but fad Despair,

Our Ranks are broke, and Ruin follows us.

What