Alas! that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily finger'd from the deck! You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. King Edward.

'Tis even so: yet you are Warwick still. Gloster.

Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down.

Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. Warwick.

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.

Enter

Warwick,

That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful king?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath, were more impiety
Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad)
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.-
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
King Edward.

Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,

Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

Gloster. Welcome, good Clarence: this is brother-like.

That I must yield my body to the earth,
And by my fall the conquest to my foe.
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading
[wind.
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's
black veil,

tree,

Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world:
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood,
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his
brow?

Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and
dust ?

And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Enter Oxford and Sonu rsc).
Somerset.

Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, We might recover all our loss again. The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; [thou fly! Even now we heard the news. Ah, could'st

SCENE III. Another part of the Field, Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Clarence, Gloster, and the rest.

King Edward. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, Ere he attain his easeful western bed:

I mean, my lords, those powers, that the queen Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

Clarence.

Clarence.

A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, And blow it to the source from whence it came: Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm. Gloster.

The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. King Edward.

And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this, as doubting any here;
For, did I but suspect a fearful man,
He should have leave to go away betimes,
Lest, in our need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as God forbid !
Let him depart before we need his help.
Oxford.

Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.

We, having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
And, as we march, our strength will be aug-
In every county as we go along.- [mented
Strike up the drum! cry-Courage! and away.
[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. Queen Margaret.

Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown over. board,

The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
Yet lives our pilot still: 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 strength to that which hath too
much;

Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
Ah! what a shame, ah! what a fault were this.
Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our top-mast; what of him?
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of
these?

Why, is not Oxford here another anchor,
And Somerset another goodly mast? [lings?
The friends of France our shrouds and tack-
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keep our course, though the rough wind
say no,

From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.

As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair.
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say, you can swim; alas! 'tis but a while:
Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the
brothers,
[rocks.
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and
Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

Prince.

Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity,

Doth live again in thee: long may'st thou live, To bear his image, and renew his glories!

Somerset.

And he, that will not fight for such a hope,
Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.
Queen Margaret.

Thanks, gentle Somerset: -sweet Oxford, thanks.

Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else. Enter a Messenger. Messenger.

Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand,
Ready to fight: therefore, be resolute.
Oxford.

I thought no less: it is his policy,
To haste thus fast to find us unprovided.
Somerset.

But he's deceiv'd: we are in readiness.
Queen Margaret.
This cheers my heart to see your forwardness.
Oxford.

Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

Flourish and March. Enter King Edward,
Clarence, Gloster, and Forces.
King Edward.

Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny
wood,
[strength,
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere 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 Margaret.

Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say,

My tears gainsay: for every word I speak,
Ye see, I drink the water of my eye.
Therefore, no more but this:-Henry, your
sovereign,

Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

[Exeunt both Armies.