Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows; Who hath not seen them (even with those wings, Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,- Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, How it doth grieve me, that thy head is here! And this soft courage makes your followers faint. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. Clif. I would your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success, when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those, that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter EDWARD,GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You-that are king, though he do wear the crown,Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. Who should succeed the father, but the son? Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, I cannot speak! Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you, that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd. Warwick? dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; Q.Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here, Cannot be eur'd by words; therefore be still. Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q.Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire,nor dam; But like a foul mishapen stigmatick, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex traught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself.- Had slipp'd our claim until another age. Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy And that thy summer bred us no increase, And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.- And either victory, or else a grave. 2. Mar. Stay, Edward. Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton in Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE. Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Enter RICHARD. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, War. Then let the earth be drunken with our I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. |