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K. Henry. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Nor that fear to stay, but love to go Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away. [Exeunt.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford wounded. Clif. Here burns my Candle out; ay, here it dies, Which whiles 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 Fr ends to thee, [Falling. And now I fall, thy tough Commixtures melt, Impairing Henry, strengthning miss-proud York; And whither fly the Gnats, but to the Sun? And who shines now, but Henry's Enemies? O Phoebus ! hadit thou never giv'n consent, That Phaeton should check thy fiery Steeds, Thy burning Car never had scorch'd the Earth. And Henry, hadit thou sway'd as Kings should do, Or as thy Father, and his Faiher 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? Bootless 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 : For 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 : Come York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest, I ftabb’d your Father's Befom; split my Breast. [He faints

. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard,

Mountague, Clarence, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we Lords, good Fortune bids us pawse, And smooth the frowns of War with peaceful looks: Some Troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen, Tha: led calm Henry, though he were a King. As doth a Sail ølld with a fretting Gult,



Commard an Argofie

" Item the Waves : But think you Lords, that Clifford fled with them?

War. No, 'cis impossible he should escape: For though before his Face I speak the word, Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave; And wherefoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans.

Rich. Whose Soul is that, which takes her heavy leave?
A deadly groan, like Life and Death's departing.
See who it is.

Edw. And now the Battel's ended,
If Friend or Foe, let him be gently used.

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,
Buc set his murth’ring Knife unto the Root,
From whence that tender {pray did sweetly spring,
I mean your Princely Father, Duke of York.

War. From off the Gates of York fetch down the head,
Your Father's Head, which Clifford placed there :
Instead whereof, let his supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal Screech-owl to our House
That nothing sung but Death to us and ours :
Now death thall stop his dismal threatning found.
And his ill-boading Tongue no more shall speak.

War. I think his understanding is bereft:
Speak Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee
Dark cloudy Death o'er-shades his Beams of Life,
And he nor fees, 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.

Cla. If so thou thinkst,
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.
Cla. While we devise fell Tortures for thy Faults:
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am Son to Yorks
Edw. Thou pitied'lt Rutland, I will picy thee.


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Cla. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

War. They mock thee, Clifford, Swear, as thou wast wont.

Rich. What, not an Oath ! Nay, then the World goes hard, When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an Oath: Į know by that he's dead, and by my Soul, If this right hand would buy but two hours life, That I, in all despight, might rail at him, This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing Blood Sufle the Villain, whose unftanched thirft York, and young Rutland, could not satisfie.

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the Traitor's Head, And rear it in the place your Father's stands, And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's Royal King: From whence shall Warwick cut the Sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen. So shalt thou sinew both these Lands together, 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 effed this Marriagae, so it please my Lord,

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For on thy Shoulder do I build


Seat :
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy Counsel and Consent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloster,
And George of Clarence; Warwick as our self
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Gloʻster's Dukedom is too ominous,

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloster : Now to London, To see these honours in poflellion.



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Enter Sinklo, and Humphry, with Cross-bows in their



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Nder this thick grown brake we'll shrowd our felves ;

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.

Hump. I'll stay above the Hill, so both may shoot,
Sink. That cannot be, the noise of thy Cross-bow
Will fcare the Herd, and so my thoot 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 befel me on a Day,
In this self-place, where now we mean to stand.
Sink. Here comes a Man, let's stay 'till be be past,

Enter King Henry with a Prayer-Book.
K. Henry. From Scotland am I stoľn even of pure love,

To greet mine own Land with my wishful fight:
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine,
Thy place is filled, thy Scepter wrung from thee,
Thy Balm washt off wherewith thou wast anointed,
No bending Knee will call thee Cesar now,
No humble Sutors press to speak for right;
No, not a Man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not my self?

Sink. Ay, here's a Deer, whose Skin’s a Keeper's Fee;
This is the quandam King; let's seize upon him.

K. Henry. Let me embrace the four Adversaries,
For wise Men say, it is the wiseft course,

Hump. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
Sink. Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry. 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 loft:
For Warwick is a subtle Orator;


And Lewis a Prince foon won with moving Words :

By this account then Margaret may win him,
For Me's a Woman to be pitied much :
Her fighs will make a batt'ry in his Breast,
Her Tears will pierce into a Marble Heart :
The Tyger will be mild, whiles the 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 :
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 installid;
That the poor wrerch for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick rells his Title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth Arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclufion wins the King from her,
With promise of his Sister, and what elle,
To strengthen and support King Edward's Place.
O Margaret, thus 't will be, and thou (poor Sou!)
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

Hum. Say, what art thou that talk'st of Kings, and Queens

K, Henry. More than I feem, and less ihan I was born to;
A Man at least, for less I should not be;
And Men may talk of Kings, and why not 1?

Hum. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a King.
K. Henry. Why so I am, in Mind, and that's enough.
Hnm. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crown?

K. Henry. My Crown is in my Heart, not on my Head:
Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian Stones ;
Not to be seen : My Crown is call'd Content,
A Crown it is that seldom Kings enjoy.

Hum. Well, if you be a King crown'd with Concent,
Your Crown Content, and you must be contented
To go along with us. For, as we think,
You are the King, King Edward hath depos’d:
And we his Subje&s, sworn in all Allegiance,
W:ll apprehend you as his Enemy.

K. Henry. But did you never swear, and break an Oath.
Hum. No, never such an Oath, nor will not now.

K. Henry. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?


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