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And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, - Alas, it was a piteous deed -
There, take the crown, and, with the crown,my curse;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
2. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord North-

umberland ?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's

death. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted

(Stabbing him.

(Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul fies through these wounds to seek out thee.

[Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York

gates ; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD with

their Forces, marching. Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd ; Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit'; Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape.

sad Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, As doth a lion in a herd of neat:

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And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,

soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yes, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed -
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
Ny soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

Nortk. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kis,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
2. Mar. What

, weeping-ripe, my lord Northe
umberland!
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Ciij. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's

death,
2. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted

Stabbing kim
king.

Stabbing tin. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek ont thee.

Dias. l. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York

gates;
So York may overlook the town of York. (Ereunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.
A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.
Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD with

their Forces, marching.
Edw. I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd;
Or whether he be 'scap'd array, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit;
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news,

thinks, we should have heard
How fares my brother ! why is he so sad?
where our content Marine father's become
I saiy him in

range about ;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat:

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Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs:
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father ;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her

farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the

prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker, praneing to his love!

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns!
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racing clouds,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable :
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun,
In this the heaven figures some event.
Edw. "Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never

heard of.
I think, it cites tis, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;-by your leave

I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a Messenger.
Bat what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story, hanging on thy tongue ?
Mess. Ah, one, that was a woful looker on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more for I have heard too

much.
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environed he was with many foes ;
And stood against them as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks, that would have enter'a Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield

to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak,
By many hands your father was subdu'd;

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But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain :
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle, that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon;
Now thou art gone, we have no statt, no stay-
O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'a him,
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee!
Now, my soul's palace is become a prison ;
Ah, would she break from hence that this my body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest :
For nerer henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, never, shall I see more joy;

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart :
Nor can my tongue unload 'my heart's great burden;
For self-same wind that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames, that tears would

quench.
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief :
Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for

me!-
Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,
Or die renowned by attempting it.
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with

thee
His duked om and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
Either that is thine, or else tbou wert not his.
Marck. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE,

with Forces.
War. How now, fair lords 1 What fare? what

news abroad?
Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance,

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Stah poniards in our flesh, till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the

wounds.
O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Edu. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears :
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things, since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
Bearing the king in my behalf along:
For by my scouts I was advertised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make, -we at Saint Alban's met,
Our battles join'a, and both sides fiercely fought:
Bat, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives-blood and death,
cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,
Fell gently down,

if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards :
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled; the king, unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another

head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle

Warwick

And when came George from Burgundy to England ? War. Some 'six miles off the duke is with the

soldiers : And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick

Aled : Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou

hear: For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist; Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me

not;
'Tis love I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
Jf for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek

you out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
And of their

feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your snecession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against

the house

of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: With all the friends, that thou, brave earl of March, Will bur amount to fire and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain; And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry-Charge upon our foesi

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