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thee gone.

me ?

But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, Until that act of parliament be repeal’d,

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Whereby my son is disinherited.

Within whose circuit is Elysium,
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace, Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed
And utter ruin of the house of York.

Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
Thus do I leave thee : - Come, son, let's away; York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
Our army's ready; come, we'll after them. Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.
speak.

Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise :

In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Witty S and courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — Prince. When I return with victory from the field, while you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. But that I seek occasion how to rise ; Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. And yet the king not privy to my drift,

(Ereunt Queen MARGARET and the Prince. Nor any of the house of Lancaster ? K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to her

Enter a Messenger. son, Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;

post ? Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle,

lords, Tire ? on the flesh of me, and of my son !

Intend here to besiege you in your castle : The loss of those three lords torments my heart;

She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ;

And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

that we fear them? [Exeunt.

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; –

My brother Montague shall post to London : SCENE II. - A Room in Sandal Castle, near Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Whom we have left protectors of the king, Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE. With powerful policy strengthen themselves, Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me

And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. leave.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: Edw. No, I can better play the orator.

And thus most humbly I do take my leave. (Ezit. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh MORTIMER. Enter YORK.

York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a

uncles ! strife?

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; What is your quarrel ? how began it first ?

The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.

Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the York. About what ?

field. Rich. About that which concerns your grace,

York. What, with five thousand men ?

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. The crown of England, father, which is yours. A woman's general ; What should we fear? York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead.

[4 March afar off Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in

Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. It will outrun you, father in the end.

York. Five men to twenty !-- though the odds be York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

great, Edw. I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be for- Many a battle have I won in France,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one ; York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.

Why should I not now have the like success ? Rich. l'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me

(Alarum. Exeunt. speak.

SCENE III. — Plains near Sandal Castle. York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took

Alarums : Excursions. Enter RUTLAND, and his Before a true and lawful magistrate,

Tutor. That hath authority over him that swears :

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to’scape their hands! Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes ! ? Peck,

3 Of sound judgment.

and us;

order ;

Sworn.

enter.

Enter CLIFFORD, and Soldiers.

My sons — - Heaven knows, what hath bechanced

them : Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke,

But this I know - they have demean'd themselves Whose father slew my father, - he shall die.

Like men born to renown, by life, or death. Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me; Clif. Soldiers, away with him.

And thrice cried, — Courage, father! fight it out!
Tüt. Ah, Clifford! inurder not this innocent child, And full as oft came Edward to my side,
Lest thou be haled both of God and man.

With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt,
(Exit, forced off by Soldiers. In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
Clif. How now! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear, And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
That makes him close his eyes ? - I'll open them.

Richard cried, -- Charge! and give no foot of ground / Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch

And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! That trembles under his devouring paws:

A scepter, or an earthly sepulchre ! And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ;

With this, we charg'd again : but, out, alas! And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.

We bodg'd' again ; as I have seen a swan Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,

With bootless labour swim against the tide, And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.

And spend her strength with overmatching waves. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;

[A short Alarum within, I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,

Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue : Be thou reveng' on men, and let me live.

And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: Clif. In vain thou speak’st, poor boy; my father's And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: blood

The sands are number'd that make up my life : Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERRut. Then let my father's blood open it again;

LAND, and Soldiers. He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Come, bloody Clifford, - rough Northumberland, Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage ; Were not revenge sufficient for me;

I am your butt, and I abide your shot. No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.

With downright payment show'd unto my father. The sight of any of the house of York

Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, Is as a fury to torment my soul;

And made an evening at the noontide point. And till I root out their accursed line,

York. My ashes, as the Phænix, may bring forth And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

A bird that will revenge upon you all : Therefore

(Lifting his Hand. And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death :

Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear ? Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; me ?

So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Clif. Thy father hath.

Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born.

York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;

And in thy thought o'er-run my former time : Lest, in revenge thereof, -sith God is just,

And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ; He be as miserably slain as I.

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice, Ah, let me live in prison all my days;

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. And when I give occasion of offence,

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

But buckle with thee blows twice two for one. Clif. No cause?

[Draws. Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand [CLIFFORD stabs him.

causes, Rut. faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ ! 4

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life:

[Dies Wrath inakes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet !

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade,

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : Shall rust upon my weapon, till tby blood,

What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,

[Exit. When he might spurn him with his foot away? SCENE IV. The same.

It is war's prize to take all vantages;

And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
Alarum. Enter YORK.

[They lay hands on York, who struggles. York. The army of the queen hath got the field : Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. And all my followers to the eager foe

(York is taken prisoner. Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.

booty ;

So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. • Heaven grant that this may be your greatest boast!

Ovid. Epist.

Si. e. We boggled, failed.

woman.

North. What would your grace have done unto Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? him now?

It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- Unless the adage must be verified, berland,

That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. Come make him stand upon this molehill here, 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud; That raught 6 at mountains with outstretched arms, But heaven knows, thy share thereof is small : Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. - 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd; What! was it you that would be England's king ? The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,

'Tis government, that makes them seem divine; And made a preachment of your high descent ? The want thereof makes thee abominable : Where are your mess of sons to back you now? Thou art as opposite to every good, The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? As the Antipodes are unto us, And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Or as the south to the septentrion.' Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, 0, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, Look, York; I staind this napkin with the blood And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; Made issue from the bosom of the boy:

Thou stern, obdurate, finty, rough, remorseless. And, if thine eyes can water for his death,

Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, For raging wind blows up incessant showers, I should lament thy miserable state.

And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. I pr’ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. And every drop cries vengeance for his death, What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false FrenchThat not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; York. That face of his the hungry cannibals York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. — Would not have touch’d, would not have stain'd A crown for York; — and, lords, bow low to him. —

with blood : Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

(Putting a paper Crown on his Head. O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!

See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And this is he was his adopted heir.

And I with tears do wash the blood away. But how is it that great Plantagenet

Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?

[He gives back the Handkerchief: As I bethink me, you should not be king,

And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; And will you pale 7 your head in Henry's glory, Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And rob his temples of the diadem,

Alas, it was a piteous deed ! Now in his life, against your holy oath?

There, take the crown, and with the crown, my curse; (), 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable !

And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads !
Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves I should not for my life but weep with him,
of France,

To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum-
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,

berland? To triumph like an Amazonian trull,

Think but upon the wrong he did us all, Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ? And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,

Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

death.

(Stabbing hin. I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,

king.

(Stabbing him. Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! shameless.

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. Thy father bears the type 8 of king of Naples,

[Dies. Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ;

Q. Mar. Off' with his head, and set iton York gates; Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. So York may overlook the town of York. (Exeunt. 6 Reached.

7 Impale, encircle. & The distinguishing mark.

9 Regularity of behaviour. | The north. 2 Sufferings 5 Motit.

And say,

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SCENE I.-A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Here- 1 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : fordshire.

Who crown’d the gracious duke in high despite; Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, with their The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,

Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept, Forces, marching.

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped ; of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : Or whether he be 'scap'd away or no,

And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; They set the same; and there it doth remain,

They took his head, and on the gates of York Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; The happy tidings of his good escape.

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd

The flower of Europe for his chivalry; Where our right valiant father is become.

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, I saw him in the battle range about ;

For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.

Now my soul's palace is become a prison : Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,

Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body As doth a lion in a herd of neat 3 :

Might in the ground be closed up in rest :
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;

For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;

Rich. I cannot weep: for all my body's moisture So fled his enemies my warlike father;

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart : Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.

Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,

For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, See how the morning opes her golden gates,

Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun !
How well reseinbles it the prime of youth,

And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.

To weep, is to make less the depth of grief : Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love! Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,

Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge for me!Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun?

Or die renowned by attempting it. Not separated with the racking clouds 4,

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

His dukedom and his chair with me is left. As if they vow'd some league inviolable :

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event.

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never Or that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

Forces.
Each one already blazing by our meeds 5,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,

War. How now, fair lords ? What fare? what

news abroad? And over-shine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Upon my target three fair shining suns.

Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
Enter a Messenger.

The words would add more anguish than the wounds. But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell

O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on,

Which held thee dearly, as his very soul, When as the noble duke of York was slain,

Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. Your princely father, and my loving lord.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears : Edw. O,speak nomore! for I have heard too much. And now, to add more measure to your woes, Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

I come to tell you things since then befall’n. Mess. Environed he was with many foes ;

After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, And stood against them as the hope of Troy 6

Where your brave father breath’d bis latest gasp, Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.

Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. And many strokes, though with a little axe

I then in London, keeper of the king, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, By many hands your father was subdu'd ;

And very well appointed, as I thought, But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm

March'd towards Saint Alban'sto intercept the qucen,

Bearing the king in my behalf along:
3 Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c.
* 1.e. The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion.

For by my scouts I was advertised,
That she was coming with a full intent

thee;

6 Hector.

To dash our late decree in parliament,

Why, Via! to London will we march amain ; Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. And once again bestride our foaming steeds, Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met, And once again cry Charge upon our foes ! Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But never once again turn back and fly. But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,

speak : That robb’d my soldiers of their hated spleen ; Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, Or whether 'twas report of her success;

That cries – Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; Who thunders to his captives – blood and death, And when thou fall'st, (as heaven forbid the hour!) I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth, Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend! Their weapons like to lightning came and went; War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; Our soldiers — like the night-owl's lazy flight, The next degree is, England's royal throne: Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,

For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. In every borough as we pass along : I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, And he that throws not up his cap for joy, With promise of high pay, and great rewards : Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague,And we, in them no hope to win the day,

Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, So that we fled; the king unto the queen ;

But sound the trumpets, and about our task. Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hardas steel, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ; (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) For in the marches here, we heard you were, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Then strike up, drums; - God, and saint Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War

George, for us! wick ? And when came George from Burgundy to Eng

Enter a Messenger. land ?

War. How now? what news? War. Some six miles off the duke is with the

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, soldiers :

The queen is coming with a puissant host; And for your brother, - he was lately sent And craves your company for speedy counsel. From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,

War. Why then it sorts 7, brave warriors: Let's With aid of soldiers to this needful war,

away.

[Exeunt. Rich 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled :

SCENE II. -- Before York. Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.

of Wales, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou

with Forces. hear : For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town Can pluck the diadem from faint Ilenry's head,

of York. And wring the awful scepter from his fist; Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, Were he as famous and as bold in war,

That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: As he is fam'd for mildness, peace and prayer. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ?

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not; K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.

their wreck: But, in this troublous time, what's to be done ? To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, Withhold revenge, great God ! 'tis not my fault, And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,

Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. Numb’ring our Ave-Maries with our beads ? Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ?

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
If for the last, say — Ay, and to it, lords. Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ?
out;

Not his, that spoils her young before her face. And therefore comes my brother Montague. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,

Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And of their feather many more proud birds, And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, He swore consent to your succession,

Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows : His oath enrolled in the parliament;

He but a duke, would have his son a king, And now to London all the crew are gone,

And raise his issue, like a loving sire; To frustrate both his oath, and what beside Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, May make against the house of Lancaster.

Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Which argued thee a most unloving father. Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,

Unreasonable creatures feed their young: With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Yet in protection of their tender ones, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,

7 Why then things are as they should be.

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