Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
What! was it you that would be England's King?
Was't you that revell'd in our Parliament,

And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,

I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.

I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret that I may sing and dance.
What! hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. —
A crown for York! — and, lords, bow low to him:
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

[Putting a paper crown on his head.

Ay, marry, sirs, now looks he like a king!

5 Kaught is the old preterite of the verb to reach.

6 Napkin and handkerchief were used interchangeably.

Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.

But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king

Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale 7 your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,

Now in his life, against your holy oath?

O, 'tis a fault too-too unpardonable !

Off with the crown, and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.

Queen. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of

France,

Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex

To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,

Upon their woes whom fortune captivates !
But that thy face is, visard-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud Queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,

Were shame enough to shame thee, wert not shameless.
Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem;

Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud Queen;

Unless the adage must be verified,

That beggars mounted run their horse' to death.

7 To pale is to encircle or encompass, as with palings; here, of course, to impale with a crown.

'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small :
'Tis virtue that doth made them most admired;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government 8 that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good

As the Antipodes are unto us,

Or as the South to the Septentrion.

O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;

Thou stern, obdúrate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish ;
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,

And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.
North. Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals

Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania.

See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father's tears :
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.

8 Government here means orderly behaviour, forbearance, self-control. So in 1 King Henry IV., iii. 1: "Defect of manners, want of government, pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain," &c.

Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

[Giving back the handkerchief.

And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,

And say, Alas, it was a piteous deed!

There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;

[Giving back the paper crown.

And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world :
My soul to Heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

I should not for my life but weep with him,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Queen. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all,

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

[Stabbing him.

Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King.

[Stabbing him.

York. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. [Dies. Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ;

So York may overlook the town of York.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Hereford

shire.

Drums. Enter EDWARD and Richard, with their Forces, marching.

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no

From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit :

Had he been ta’en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-

How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about ;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ; 1

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, -
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So fared our father with his enemies;

So fled his enemies my warlike father :
Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See how the morning opes her golden gates,

1 Neat properly means horned cattle; from a Saxon word signifying to butt or strike with the horn. Still used so in "neat's-tallow and "neat'soil."