Wilt thou yeeld the Crowne?

Qu. Why how now long-tongu'd Warwicke, dare

you speak?

When you and I, met at S. Albons last,

Your legges did better service then your hands.

110

War. Then 'twas my turne to fly, and now 'tis thine: Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not yout valor Clifford drove me thence. Nor. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently, Breake off the parley, for scarse I can refraine The execution of my big-swolne heart Upon that Clifford, that cruell Child-killer.

Clif. I slew thy Father, cal'st thou him a Child? 120 Rich. I like a Dastard, and a treacherous Coward, As thou didd'st kill our tender Brother Rutland, But ere Sunset, Ile make thee curse the deed.

King. Have done with words (my Lords) and heare me speake.

Qu. Defie them then, or els hold close thy lips.
King. I prythee give no limits to my Tongue,

I am a King, and priviledg'd to speake.

Clif. My Liege, the wound that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cur'd by Words, therefore be still.

Rich. Then Executioner unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
That Cliffords Manhood, lyes upon his tongue.

130

Ed. Say Henry, shall I have my right, or no: A thousand men have broke their Fasts to day, That ne're shall dine, unlesse thou yeeld the Crowne. War. If thou deny, their Blood upon thy head, For Yorke in justice put's his Armour on.

114. yout: your-2-4F.

Pr. Ed. If that be right, which Warwick saies is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

140

War. [Rich.] Who ever got thee, there thy Mother stands,

For well I wot, thou hast thy Mothers tongue.

Qu. But thou art neyther like thy Sire nor Damme, But like a foule mishapen Stygmaticke,

Mark'd by the Destinies to be avoided,

As venome Toades, or Lizards dreadfull stings.
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose Father beares the Title of a King,
(As if a Channell should be call'd the Sea)

Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,1
To let thy tongue detect thy base-borne heart.

151

Ed. A wispe of straw were worth a thousand Crowns, To make this shamelesse Callet know her selfe: Helen of Greece was fayrer farre then thou, Although thy Husband may be Menelaus; 1extracted And ne're was Agamemnons Brother wrong'd By that false Woman, as this King by thee. His Father revel'd in the heart of France,

160

And tam'd the King, and made the Dolphin stoope:
And had he match'd according to his State,
He might have kept that glory to this day.
But when he tooke a begger to his bed,

And grac'd thy poore Sire with his Bridall day,
Even then that Sun-shine brew'd a showre for him,
That washt his Fathers fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his Crowne at home:
For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy Pride?
Had'st thou bene meeke, our Title still had slept,
And we in pitty of the Gentle King,

141. given to Richard-Qo. War.: out-POPE.

Had slipt our Claime, untill another Age.

170

Cla. But when we saw, our Sunshine made thy Spring,
And that thy Summer bred us no increase,
We set the Axe to thy usurping Roote:

And though the edge hath something hit our selves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
Wee'l never leave, till we have hewne thee downe,
Or bath'd thy growing, with our heated bloods.
Edw. And in this resolution, I defie thee,
Not willing any longer Conference,
Since thou denied'st the gentle King to speake.
Sound Trumpets, let our bloody Colours wave,
And either Victorie, or else a Grave.

Qu. Stay Edward.

180

Ed. No wrangling Woman, wee'l no longer stay, These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

Exeunt omnes.

[Scene iii. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire.]

Alarum. Excursions.

Enter Warwicke.

War. Fore-spent1 with Toile, as Runners with a Race,

I lay me downe a little while to breath:

lexhausted

For strokes receiv'd, and many blowes repaid,
Have robb'd my strong knit sinewes of their strength,
And spight of spight, needs must I rest a-while.

Enter Edward running.

Ed. Smile gentle heaven, or strike ungentle death, For this world frownes, and Edwards Sunne is clowded. War. How now my Lord, what happe? what hope of good?

180. denied'st: deniest-QQ.

I I

Enter Clarence.

Cla. Our hap is losse, our hope but sad dispaire, Our rankes are broke, and ruine followes us. What counsaile give you? whether shall we flye?

Ed. Bootlesse is flight, they follow us with Wings, And weake we are, and cannot shun pursuite.

Enter Richard.

Rich. Ah Warwicke, why hast thou withdrawn thy selfe? |

Thy Brothers blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the Steely point of Cliffords Launce:
And in the very pangs of death, he cryde,
Like to a dismall Clangor heard from farre,
Warwicke, revenge; Brother, revenge my death.
So underneath the belly of their Steeds,

That stain'd their Fetlockes in his smoaking blood,
The Noble Gentleman gave up the ghost.

20

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
Ile kill my Horse, because I will not flye:
Why stand we like soft-hearted women heere,
Wayling our losses, whiles the Foe doth Rage,
And looke upon, as if the Tragedie

Were plaid in jest, by counterfetting Actors.
Heere on my knee, I vow to God above,
Ile never pawse againe, never stand still,

Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or Fortune given me measure of Revenge.

30

Ed. Oh Warwicke, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chaine my soule to thine: And ere my knee rise from the Earths cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up, and plucker downe of Kings:

40

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 sinfull soule.
Now Lords, take leave untill we meete againe,
Where ere it be, in heaven, or in earth.

Rich. Brother,

Give me thy hand, and gentle Warwicke,
Let me imbrace thee in my weary armes:
I that did never weepe, now melt with wo,
That Winter should cut off our Spring-time so.
War. Away, away:

Once more sweet Lords farwell.

Cla. Yet let us altogether to our Troopes,
And give them leave to flye, that will not stay:
And call them Pillars that will stand to us:
And if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As Victors weare at the Olympian Games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
For yet is hope of Life and Victory:
Foreslow1 no longer, make we hence amaine.

[Scene iv. Excursions.

Another part of the field.]

Enter Richard and Clifford.

50

60

1 delay Exeunt

Rich. Now Clifford, I have singled thee alone,
Suppose this arme is for the Duke of Yorke,
And this for Rutland, both bound to revenge,
Wer't thou inviron'd with a Brazen wall.

Clif, Now Richard, I am with thee heere alone, This is the hand that stabb'd thy Father Yorke, And this the hand, that slew thy Brother Rutland, And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, 49-50. I 1.-POPE. 54-5. I 1.-Q.