Perhaps thou wilt object my holy Oath:
To keep that Oath were more Impiety,
Than Jepthah, when he facrific'd his Daughter.
I am fo forry for my Trespass made,
That to deferve well at my Brother's Hands,
I here proclaim my felf thy mortal Foe:
With Refolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou ftir Abroad,)
To plague thee for thy foul mifs-leading me.
And fo, proud-hearted Warwick, I defie thee,
And to my Brother turn my blufhing Checks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
And Richard, do not frown upon my Faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconftant.
K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
Than if thou never had'ft deferv'd my Hate.
Glo. Welcome, good Clarence, this is Brother-like.
War. O paffing Traitor, perjur'd and unjust.
K. Edw. What Warwick,
Wilt thou leave the Town and fight?
Or fhall we beat the Stones about thine Ears?
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet prefently,
And bid thee Battel, Edward, if thou dar'ft.
K. Edw. Yes Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords to the Field; St. George and Victory.
March. Warwick and his Company follows. Alarum and Excursions. Enter Edward bringing forth War
K. Edw. So, lye thou there; die thou, and die our fear, For Warwick was a Bug that fear'd us all.
Now Montague fit faft, I feek for thee,
That Warwick's Bones may keep thine Company.
War. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, Friend, or Foe,
And tell me who is Victor, York, or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled Body fhews,
My Blood, my want of Strength, my fick Heart fhews,
That I muft yield my Body to the Earth,
And by my fall, the conqueft to my Foe.
Thus yields the Cedar to the Ax's edge,
Whofe Arms gave fhelter to the Princely Eagle,
Under whofe fhade the ramping Lion flept,
Whofe top-branch over-peer'd Jove's fpreading Tree,
And kept low Shrubs from Winter's pow'rful Wind.
Thefe Eyes, that now are dimn'd with Death's black Veil, Have been as piercing as the Mid-day Sun,
To search the fecret Treafons of the World:
The wrinkles in my Brows, now fill'd with Blood,
Were lik'ned oft to Kingly Sepulchres:
For who liv'd King, but I could dig his Grave?
And who durft fmile, when Warwick bent his Brow?
Lo, now my Glory fmear'd in Duft and Blood,
My Parks, my Walks, my Mannors that I had,
Even now forfake me; and of all my Lands,
Is nothing left me, but my Body's length.
Why, what is Pomp, Rule, Reign, but Earth and Duft?
And live we how we can, yet die we muft:
Enter Oxford and Somerfet.
Som. Ah Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our Lofs again:
The Queen from France hath brought a puiffant Power,
Even now we heard the News: Ah, could'st thou fly.
War. Why then I would not fly. Ah Montague,
If thou be there, fweet Brother, take my Hand,
And with thy Lips keep in my Soul a while.
Thou lov'ft me not; for, Brother, if thou didft,
Thy Tears would wash this cold congealed Blood,
That glews my Lips, and will not let me fpeak.
Come quickly Montague, or I am dead.
Som. Ah Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gafp, cry'd out for Warwick:
And faid, commend me to my valiant Brother.
And more he would have faid, and more he spoke,
And founded like a Cannon in a Vault,
That mought not be diftinguifh'd; but at last,
I well might hear delivered with a Groan,
O farewel Warwick.
War. Sweet reft his Soul;
Fly Lords, and fave your felves,
For Warwick bids you all farewel, to meet in Heaven. [Dies. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great Power. Here they bear away his Body. [Exeunt. F 4
Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Gloucester, Clarence, and the reft
K. Edw. Thus far our Fortune keeps an upward courfe,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of Victory;
But in the midft of this bright-fhining Day,
I fpy a black fufpicious threatning Cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious Sun,
E'er he attain his eafeful Western Bed:
I mean, my Lords, thofe Powers that the Queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our Coaft,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
Clar. A little Gale will foon difperfe that Cloud,
And blow it to the Source from whence it came;
Thy very Beams will dry thofe Vapours up,
For every Cloud, engenders not a Storm.
Glo. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,
And Somerfet, with Oxford, fled to her;
If he hath time to breathe, be well affur'd
Her Faction will be full as ftrong as ours.
K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving Friends,
That they do hold their courfe toward Tewksbury.
We having now the beft at Barnet Field,
Will thither ftraight, for willingness rids way,
And as we march, our ftrength will be augmented,
In every Country as we go along :
Strike up the Drum, cry Courage, and away.
March. Enter the Queen, Prince of Wales, Somerset,
Queen. Great Lords, wife Men ne'er fit and wail their But chearly feek how to redrefs their Harms.
What though the Maft be now blown over-board,
The Cable broke, the holding-Anchor loft,
And half our Sailors fwallow'd in the Flood?
Yet lives our Pilot ftill. Is't meet that he
Should leave the Helm, and like a fearful Lad,
With tearful Eyes add Water to the Sea,
And give more ftrength to that which hath too much,
Whiles in his moan, the Ship fplits on the Rock,
Which Industry and Courage might have fav'd?
Ah what a fhame, ah what a fault were this.
Say, Warwick was our Anchor; what of that?
And Montague our Top-maft; what of him?
Our flaughter'd Friends, the Tackles; what of these?
Why is not Oxford here another Anchor ?
And Somerfet, another goodly Maft?
The Friends of France our Shrowds and Tacklings?
And though unskilful, why not Ned and I,
For once allow'd the skilful Pilot's Charge?
We will not from the Helm to fit and weep,
But keep our Courfe, though the rough Wind fay no,
From Shelves and Rocks, that threaten us with Wrack.
As good to chide the Waves, as fpeak them fair.
And what is Edward, but a ruthlefs Sea?
What Clarence, but a Quick-fand of Deceit ?
And Richard, but a ragged fatal Rock?
All thefe, the Enemies to our poor Bark.
Say you can fwim, alas, 'tis but a while;
Tread on the Sand, why there you quickly fink;
Beftride the Rock, the Tide will wath you off,
Or else you famith, that's a three-fold Death.
This fpeak I, Lords, to let you understand,
In cafe fome one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hop'd-for Mercy with the Brothers,
More than with ruth'efs Waves, with Sands and Rocks.
Why courage then, what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weaknefs to lament or fear.
Prince. Methinks a Woman of this valiant Spirit
Should, if a Coward heard her fpeak these words,
Infufe his Breaft with Magnanimity,
And make him, naked, foil a Man at Arms.
I fpeak not this, as doubting any here:
For did I but fufpect a fearful Man,
He should have leave to go away betimes,
Left in our need he might infect another,
And make him of like Spirit to himself.
If any fuch be here, as God forbid,
Let him depart before we need his help.
Oxf. Women and Children of fo high a Courage,
And Warriors faint! why 'twere perpetual Shame.
Oh brave young Prince! thy famous Grandfather
Doth live again in thee; long may'ft thou live,
To bear his Image, and renew his Glories.
Som. And he that will not fight for fuch a Hope,
Go home to Bed, and like the Owl by Day,
If he arife, be mock'd and wonder'd at.
Queen. Thanks, gentle Somerset, fweet Oxford thanks.
Prin. And take his Thanks, that yet hath nothing else.
Enter a Messenger.
Mef. Prepare you, Lords, for Edward is at hand,
Ready to fight; therefore be refolute.
Oxf. I thought no lefs; it his Policy,
To hafte thus faft, to find us unprovided.
Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness.
Queen. This chears my Heart, to fee your forwardness.
Oxf. Here pitch our Battel, hence we will not budge.
March. Enter King Edward, Glocefter, Clarence,
and Soldiers.
K. Edw. Brave Followers, yonder ftands the thorny Wood, Which, by the Heaven's Affiftance, and your Strength, Muft, by the Roots, be hewn up yet e'er Night.
I need not add more Fuel to your Fire,
For well I wot, ye blaze, to burn them out:
Give Signal to the Fight, and to it, Lords..
Queen. Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I fhould fay, My Tears gain-fay; for every word I speak,
Ye fee I drink the Water of my Eye:
Therefore, no more but this; Henry, your Sovereign,
Is Prifoner to the Foe, his State ufurp'd,
His Realm a Slaughter-houfe, his Subjects flain,
His Statutes cancell'd, and his Treasure spent:
And yonder is the Wolf, that makes this Spoil.
You fight in Juftice: Then in God's Name, Lords,
Be valiant, and give Signal to the Fight.
Alarum, Retreat, Excursions.
Enter King Edward, Glocefter, Clarence, &c. The Queen,
Oxford, and Somerset Prisoners.
K. Edw. Now here's a Period of tumultuous Broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes Castle straight:
For Somerset, off with his guilty Head.
Go bear them hence, I will not hear them fpeak.
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.
Som. Nor I, but stoop with Patience to my
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