Enter EDWARD, running.

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
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 lost, our hope but sad despair;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter RICHARD.

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance : And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd,Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,— Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! So underneath the belly of their steeds,

That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,

The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.

I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,

Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy

Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,

Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune give me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.-
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
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,

The royal army consisted, according to Hall, of about forty thousand men; and the young duke of York's forces were 48,760. In this combat which lasted fifteen hours, and in the actions of the two following days, thirty-six thousand seven hundred and seventy-six persons are said to have been killed, the greater part of whom were undoubtedly Lancastrians. The total number of persons who fell in the contest between the houses of York and Lancaster, was ninety-one thousand and twenty-six. MALONE

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
-Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand, and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:→→

I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.
Geo. Yet let us altogether to our troops,
And give them leave to fly that will not stay ;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games :

This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ;6
For yet is hope of life, and victory.-

Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain.

SCENE IV.

[Exeunt.

The same. Another part of the Field. Excursions. Enter
RICHARD and CLIFFORD.

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone :
Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd, with a brazen wall.

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone :
This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland ;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself;

And so, have at thee.

[They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

SCENE V.

[Exeunt,

Another part of the Field. Alarum. Enter King HENRY.
K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

Quailing-that is, sinking into dejection.
To fore-slow is to be dilatory, to loiter.

STEEVENS.

STEEVENS

Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire, by fury of the wind:

Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this mole hill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my Queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so :
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,9
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run :
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times :
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I cóntemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ;'
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Past over to the end they were created,

[8] Hence, perhaps, the vulgarism that gives such acknowledged force to the following lines in Lee's Rival Queens:

"When Greeks join'd Greeks, then was the tug of war."

STEEVENS.

[9] This speech is mournful and soft, exquisitely suited to the character of the king, and makes a pleasing interchange, by affording, amidst the tumult and horror of the battle, an unexpected glimpse of rural innocence and pastoral tranquillity. JOHNSON. This speech strongly confirms the remark made by sir Joshua Rey nolds on a passage in Macbeth, Act I. sc. vi. MALONE.

[1] Poor fool, it has already been observed, is an expression of tenderness, often used by our author. MALONE.

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.

And to conclude,-the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that had killed his Father, dragging in the dead body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.-
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns:
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.-
Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.-
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee !-
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear ;`
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,

[2] These two horrible incidents are selected to show the innumerable calamities of civil war. JOHNSON.In the battle of Constantine and Maxentius, by Raphael, the second of these incidents is introduced on a similar occasion.

STEEVENS

Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief." Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body in his arms.

Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.—
But let me see-Is this our foeman's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!-
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eyes; see, see, what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,

Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart !—
O, pity, God, this miserable age!—

What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,3

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!-
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity !—

The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:

The one, his purple blood right well resembles ;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,

Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ?3

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances, Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied!

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?

Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ?

K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.

[2] The meaning is here inaccurately expressed. The king intends to say that the state of their hearts and eyes shall be like that of the kingdoms in a civil war, all shall be joined by power formed within themselves. JOHNSON.

[3] I think the meaning of the line, And hath bereft thee of thy life too soon, to be this: Thy father exposed thee to danger by giving thee life too soon, and hath bereft thee of life by living himself too long. JOHNSON.

[4] To take on is a phrase still in use among the vulgar, and signifies-to persist in clamorous lamentation. STEEVENS.

[5] To mis-think is to think ill, unfavourably.

STEEVENS.