Lords to the field: Saint George, and Victorie. Exeunt. March. Warwicke and his companie followes.

[Scene ii. A field near Barnet.]

Alarum, and Excursions. Enter Edward bringing forth Warwicke wounded.

Edw. So, lye thou there: dye thou, and dye our feare, For Warwicke was a Bugge1 that fear'd us all. Now Mountague sit fast, I seeke for thee, 1 bugbear That Warwickes Bones may keepe thine companie.

Exit. Warw. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe, And tell me who is Victor, Yorke, or Warwicke? Why aske I that? my mangled body shewes, My blood, my want of strength, my sicke heart shewes, That I must yeeld my body to the Earth,

10

And by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yeelds the Cedar to the Axes edge,
Whose Armes gave shelter to the Princely Eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping Lyon slept,
Whose top-branch over-peer'd Joves spreading Tree,
And kept low Shrubs from Winters pow'rfull Winde.
These Eyes, that now are dim'd with Deaths black Veyle,
Have beene as piercing as the Mid-day Sunne,
To search the secret Treasons of the World:
The Wrinckles in my Browes, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to Kingly Sepulchers:

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For who liv'd King, but I could digge his Grave?
And who durst smile, when Warwicke bent his Brow?
Loe, now my Glory smear'd in dust and blood.
My Parkes, my Walkes, my Mannors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my Lands,
Is nothing left me, but my bodies length.

Why, what is Pompe, Rule, Reigne, but Earth and Dust? And live we how we can, yet dye we must.

Enter Oxford and Somerset.

31

Som. Ah Warwicke, Warwicke, wert thou as we are, We might recover all our Losse againe:

The Queene from France hath brought a puissant power.
Even now we heard the newes: ah, could'st thou flye.
Warw. Why then I would not flye. Ah Mountague,
If thou be there, sweet Brother, take my Hand,
And with thy Lippes keepe in my Soule a while.
Thou lov'st me not: for, Brother, if thou didst,
Thy teares would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glewes my Lippes, and will not let me speake.
Come quickly Mountague, or I am dead.

40

Som. Ah Warwicke, Mountague hath breath'd his last, And to the latest gaspe, cry'd out for Warwicke: And said, Commend me to my valiant Brother. And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a Cannon in a Vault, That mought not be distinguisht: but at last, I well might heare, delivered with a groane, Oh farewell Warwicke.

Warw. Sweet rest his Soule:

Flye Lords, and save your selves,

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For Warwicke bids you all farewell, to meet in Heaven.

[Dies.]

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queenes great power. Here they beare away his Body. Exeunt.

48. Cannon: clamour-WARBURton.

52-3. I 1.-CApell.

[Scene iii. Another part of the field.]

Flourish.

Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard, Clarence, and the rest.

King. Thus farre our fortune keepes an upward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of Victorie:
But in the midst of this bright-shining Day,
I spy a black suspicious threatning Cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious Sunne,
Ere he attaine his easefull Westerne Bed:

I meane, my Lords, those powers that the Queene
Hath rays'd in Gallia, have arrived our Coast,
And, as we heare, march on to fight with us.

Clar. A little gale will soone disperse that Cloud,
And blow it to the Source from whence it came,
Thy very Beames will dry those Vapours up,
For every Cloud engenders not a Storme.

Rich. The Queene is valued thirtie 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. We are advertis'd by our loving friends, 20
That they doe hold their course toward Tewksbury.
We having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight, for willingnesse rids way,
And as we march, our strength will be augmented:
In every Countie as we goe along,

Strike up the Drumme, cry courage, and away. Exeunt.

14. Thy: The-EDINBURGH EDITION, 1792.

[Scene iv. Plains near Tewksbury.] Flourish. March. Enter the Queene, young Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and

Souldiers.

1Ο

Qu. Great Lords, wise men ne'r sit and waile their losse,
But chearely seeke how to redresse their harmes.
What though the Mast be now blowne over-boord,
The Cable broke, the holding-Anchor lost,
And halfe our Saylors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our Pilot still. Is't meet, that hee
Should leave the Helme, and like a fearefull Lad,
With tearefull Eyes adde Water to the Sea,
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles in his moane, the Ship splits on the Rock,
Which Industrie and Courage might have sav'd?
Ah what a shame, ah what a fault were this.
Say Warwicke was our Anchor: what of that?
And Mountague our Top-Mast: what of him?
Our slaught'red friends, the Tackles: what of these?
Why is not Oxford here, another Anchor?
And Somerset, another goodly Mast?

The friends of France our Shrowds and Tacklings?
And though unskilfull, why not Ned and I,
For once allow'd the skilfull Pilots Charge?
We will not from the Helme, to sit and weepe,

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But keepe our Course (though the rough Winde say no)
From Shelves and Rocks, that threaten us with Wrack.
As good to chide the Waves, as speake them faire.
And what is Edward, but a ruthlesse Sea?

What Clarence, but a Quick-sand of Deceit?
And Richard, but a raged fatall Rocke?

30. raged: ragged-Rowe.

30

All these, the Enemies to our poore Barke.
Say you can swim, alas 'tis but a while:
Tread on the Sand, why there you quickly sinke,
Bestride the Rock, the Tyde will wash you off,
Or else you famish, that's a three-fold Death.
This speake I (Lords) to let you understand,
If case some one of you would flye from us,

That there's no hop'd-for Mercy with the Brothers,
More then with ruthlesse Waves, with Sands and Rocks.
Why courage then, what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakenesse to lament, or feare.

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Prince. Me thinkes a Woman of this valiant Spirit,

Should, if a Coward heard her speake these words,
Infuse his Breast with Magnanimitie,

And make him, naked, foyle a man at Armes.
I speake not this, as doubting any here:
For did I but suspect a fearefull man, i
He should have leave to goe away betmes,
Least in our need he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himselfe.
If any such be here, as God forbid,
Let him depart, before we neede his helpe.

Oxf. Women and Children of so high a courage,
And Warriors faint, why 'twere perpetuall shame.
Oh brave young Prince: thy famous Grandfather
Doth live againe in thee; long may'st thou live,
To beare his Image, and renew his Glories.

Som. And he that will not fight for such a hope, Goe home to Bed, and like the Owle by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wondred at.

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60

Qu. Thankes gentle Somerset, sweet Oxford thankes. Prince. And take his thankes, that yet hath nothing else.