And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle? - Even at this fight
My heart is turn'd to ftone; and, while 'tis mine,
It shall be ftony. York not our old men fpares;
No more will I their babes: tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew. to fire;
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity :
Meet I an infant of the house of York,
Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Abfyrtus did:
In cruelty will I feek out my fame.

Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house;
As did Æneas old Anchifes bear,

So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders:
But then Æneas bare a living load,

Nothing fo heavy as these woes of mine.

[Exit, bearing off his Father.

Enter Richard Plantagenet, and Somerset, to fight.

R. Plan. So, lie thou there:

For underneath an alehouse' paltry fign,

[Somerset is kill d.

The castle in faint Alban's, Somerset

a

Hath made the wizard famous in his death.

Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful ftill:

Priefts pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Ex. Rich. Plantagenet.

Fight. Excurfions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others. Q. Mar. Away, my lord, you are flow; for shame, away! K. Henry. Can we outrun the heav'ns? good Margret, stay. Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight nor fly: Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,

a See before, p. 114.

To

To give the enemy way, and to secure us

By what we can, which can no more but fly. [alarum afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then should fee the bottom
Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape,
(As s well we may, if not through your neglect,)
We fhall to London get, where you are lov'd,
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
May readily be ftop'd.

Enter Clifford.

Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief fet,
I would fpeak blafphemy ere bid you fly;
But fly you muft: uncurable difcomfit
Reigns in the hearts of all our prefent pow'rs.
Away, for your relief! and we will live

To fee their day, and them our fortune give:
Away, my lord, away!

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with Drum and Colours.

York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him?

That winter lion, who in rage forgets

Aged contufions and all brush of time;

And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
Repairs him with occafion. This happy day
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,

If Salisbury be loft.

R. Plan. My noble father,

Three times to-day I holp him to his horfe,
Three times beftrid him; thrice I led him off,
Perfuaded him from any further act:

But still where danger was, ftill there I met him,
And like rich hangings in an homely house,

So

So was his will in his old feeble body.

But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. Now, by my fword, well haft thou fought to-day; By th' mafs, fo did we all. I thank

you,

Richard.

God knows how long it is I have to live;
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day
You have defended me from imminent death.
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
Being oppofites of fuch repairing nature.

York. I know, our fafety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
To call a prefent court of parliament.
Let us pursue him ere the writs
go forth.
What fays lord Warwick, fhall we after them?
War. After them! nay, before them if we can.
Now, by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day :
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. —
Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:
And more fuch days as this to us befall!

[Exeunt.

THE