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2 Soul. Le beare thee hence & let them fight that wil, For I have murdered where I should not kill.
[Exit with his sonne. K Hen. Weepe wretched man, Ile lay thee teare for tear, Here sits a king as woe begone as thee.
Alarmes and enter the Queene.
Queen. Awaie my Lord to Barwicke presentlie,
The daie is lost, ur friends are murdered,
No hope is left for vs, therefore awaie.
Enter prince EDWARD.
Prince. Oh father flie, our men haue left the field,
Take horso sweet father, let vs saue our selues.
Exet. Awaie my Lord for vengance comes along with
Nay stand not to expostulate make hast,
Or else come after, Ile awaie before.
K Hon. Naie staie good Exeter, for Jle along with thee
Enter CLIFFORD wounded, with an arrow in his necke.
Clif. Heere burnes my candell out,
That whilst it lasted gaue king Henry light.
Ah Lancaster, I feare thine ouerthrow,
More then my bodies parting from my soule.
My loue and feare glude manie friends to thee,
And now I die, that tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry strengthened misproud Yorke,
The common people swarme like summer flies,
And whither flies the Gnats but to the sun ?
And who shines now but Henries enemie ?
Oh Phoebus hadst thou neuer giuen consent,
That Phaeton should checke thy fierie steedes,
Thy burning carre had neuer scorcht the earth.
And Henry hadst thou liu'd as kings should doe,
And as thy father and his father did,
Giuing no foot vnto the house of Yorke,
I and ten thousand in this wofull land,
Had left no mourning Widdowes for our deathes,
And thou this daie hadst kept thy throne in peace.
For what doth cherish weedes but gentle aire ?
And what makes robbers bold but lenitie ?
Bootlesse are plaintes, and curelesse are my woundes,
No waie to flie, no strength to hold our flight,
The foe is mercilesse and will not pittie me,
And at their hands I haue deserude no pittie.
The aire is got into my bleeding wounds,
And much effuse of bloud koth make me faint,
Come Yorke and Richard, Warwike and the rest,
I stabde your fathers, now come split my brest.
Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and WARWIKE, and Souldiers.
Edw. Thus farre our fortunes keepes an vpward
Course, and we are grast with wreathes of victorie.
Some troopes pursue the bloudie minded Queene,
That now towards Barwike doth poste amaine,
But thinke you that Clifford is fled awaie with them?
War. No, tis impossible he should escape,
For though before his face I speake the words,
Your brother Richard markt him for the graue.
And where so ere he be I warrant him dead.
[CLIFFORD grones and then dies. Edw. Harke, what soule is this that takes his heauy
leaue? Rich. A deadlie grone, like life and deaths departure.
Edw. See who it is, and now the battailes ended,
Friend or foe, let him be friendlie vsed.
Rich. Reuerse that doome of mercie, for tis Clifford,
Who kild our tender brother Rutland,
And stabd our princelie father Duke of Yorke.
War. From off the gates of Yorke fetch downe the
Head, Your fathers head which Clifford placed there.
Insteed of that, let his supplie the roome.
Measure for measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatall scrichowle to our house,
That nothing sung to vs but bloud and death,
Now his euill boding tongue no more shall speake.
War. I thinke his vnderstanding is bereft.
Say Clifford, doost thou know who speakes to thee?
Dark cloudie death oreshades his beames of life,
And he nor sees nor heares vs what we saie.
Rich. Oh would he did, and so perhaps he doth,
And tis his policie that in the time of death,
He might auoid such bitter stormes as he
In his houre of death did giue vnto our father.
George. Richard if thou thinkest so, vex him with eager
words. Rich. Clifford, aske mercie and obtaine no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence. War. Clifford deuise excuses for thy fault. George. Whilst we deuise fell tortures for thy fault. Rich. Thou pittiedst Yorke, and I am sonne to Yorke. Edw. Thou pittiedst Rutland, and I will pittie thee. George. Wheres captaine Margaret to fence you now? War. They mocke thee Clifford, sweare as thou wast
wont. Rich. What not an oth ? Nay, then I know hees dead. Tis hard, when Clifford cannot foord his friend an oath. By this I know hees dead, and by my soule, Would this right hand buy but an howres life, That I in all contempt might raile at him. Ide cut it off and with the issuing bloud, Stifle the villaine whose instanched thirst, Yorke and young Rutland could not satisfie.
War. I, but he is dead, off with the traitors head,
And reare it in the place your fathers stands.
And now to London with triumphant march.
There to be crowned Englands lawfull king.
From thence shall Warwike crosse the seas to France,
And aske the ladie Bona for thy Queene,
So shalt thou sinew both these landes togither,
And hauing France thy friend thou needst not dread.
The scattered foe that hopes to rise againe.
And though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet looke to haue them busie to offend thine eares.
First Ile see the coronation done,
And afterward Ile cross the seas to France,
To effect this marriage if it please my Lord.
Edw. Euen as thou wilt good Warwike let it be.
But first before we go, George kneele downe.
We here create thee Duke of Clarence, and girt thee with
the sword. Our younger brother Richard Duke of Glocester. Warwike as my selfe shal do & vndo as him pleaseth best.
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Glosters Dukedome is too omninous.
War. Tush thats a childish obseruation, Richard be Duke of Gloster. Now to London, To see these honors in possession.
Enter two keepers with bow and arrows.
Keeper. Come, lets take our stands vpon this hill,
And by and by the deere will come this waie.
But staie, heere comes a man, lets listen him a while.
Enter king HENRIE disguisde.
Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue,
And thus disguisde to greet my natiue land.
No, Henrie no, It is no land of thine,
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suters sues to thee for right,
Fur how canst thou helpe them and not thy selfe ?
Keeper. I marrie sir, heere is a deere, his skinne is a
Keepers fee. Sirra stand close, for as I thinke,
This is the king, king Edward hath deposde.
Hen. My Queene and sonne poore soules are gone to
France, and as I heare the great commanding Warwike,
To intreat a marriage with the ladie Bona,
If this be true, poor Queene and sonne,
Your labour is but spent in vaine,
For Lowis is a prince soone wun with words,
And Warwike is a subtill Orator.
He laughes and saies, his Edward is instalde,
She weepes, and saies her Henry is deposde,
He on his right hand asking a wife for Edward,
She on his left side crauing aide for Henry.
Keeper. What art thou that talkes of kings and queens? Hen. More then I seeme, for lesse I should not be. A man at least, and more I cannot be, And men maie talke of kings, and why not I? Keeper. I but thou talkest as if thou wert a king thy
Hen. Why so I am in mind though not in shew.
Keeper. And if thou be a king where is thy crowne ?
Hen. My crowne is in my hart, not on my head.
My crowne is calde content, a crowne that
Kings doe seldome times enjoy.
Keeper. And if thou be a king crownd with content,
Your crowne content and you, must be content
To go with vs vnto the officer, for as we thinke
You are our quondam king, K. Edward hath deposde,
And therefore we charge you in Gods name & the kings
To go along with vs vnto the officers.
Hen. Gods name be fulfild, your kings name be Obaide, and be you kings, command and Ile obay