Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death.— To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me? Clif. Thy father hath. Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me; Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,- Ah, let me live in prison all my days; Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [CLIFFORD stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tux! Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, [Dies. Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same. Alarum. Enter YORK. York. The army of the queen hath got the field. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, My sons - God knows what hath bechanced them; Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of ground! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre ! With this we charged again; but, out, alas! And spend her strength with overmatching waves. VOL. III.-7 [A short alarum within. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,- North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. York. My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'errun my former time. And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice, Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [Draws. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes, I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland. North. Hold, Clifford; do not honor him so much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valor. [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the cony struggle in the net. [YORK is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatched. North. What would your grace have done unto him now? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York; Is crowned so soon, and broke his solemn oath? Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. Now in his life, against your holy oath? Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! To triumph like an Amazonian trull, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom derived, Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem; Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. Or as the south to the septentrion. O, tiger's heart, wrapped in a woman's hide! And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false Frenchwoman. North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood; O, ten times more,- than tigers of Hyrcania. [He gives back the handkerchief. And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; To see how inly-sorrow gripes his soul. Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland? 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. [Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies 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 'scaped; |