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Thou Setter-up and Plucker-down of kings;
Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands.
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that Thy brazen gates of Heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul !

Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in Heaven or in Earth.3

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; — and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:

I, that did never weep, now melt with woe

That Winter should cut off our Spring-time so.

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors ware 4 at the Olympian games : This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory.

Forslow 5 no longer, make we hence amain.

SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field.

Excursions.

[Exeunt.

Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD.

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,

And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,

Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

3 Such was the language of the time. So in St. Matthew, vi. 10: "Thy will be done in Earth as it is in Heaven."

4 Ware is the old preterite of wear, as bare is of bear.

5 To forslow is to delay, to loiter. So in Holland's Livy: "The consull for his part forslowed not to come to hand-fight, the onely thing he sought for in threatening to give assault."

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone :
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their deaths,
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself;

And so, have at thee !

[They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;1 For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter King HENRY.

King. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,2
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind:
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
Now one the better, then another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conqueréd :

So is the equal poise of this fell war.3
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

1 Chase for game; the object chased.

[Exeunt.

2 This seems to have been a mode of whiling away one's time, when one could do nothing else or had nothing else to do. See vol. ii. page 156,

note 17.

So in Holinshed: "This deadlie conflict continued ten houres in doubtfull state of victorie, uncertainlie heaving and setting on both sides."

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Than doth a rich-embroider'd canopy
To kings that fear their sects rmolery?
O, yes, it doth; a thousand foin it dora.

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To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my Queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so ;
For what is in this world but grief and woe?
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ; 4
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly,5 point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete ;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I cóntemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So

weeks ere the

So many days my ewes have been with young;
many
fools will yean;
poor
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

4 This speech is mournful and soft, exquisitely suited to the character of the King, and makes a pleasing interchange by affording, amidst the tumult and horror of the battle, an unexpected glimpse of rural innocence and pastoral tranquillity. — JOHNSON.

5 Quaintly is curiously, ingeniously, or artfully.

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