Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 'Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; And every drop cries vengeance for his death,''Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French woman. 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 touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: 4 'Tis government, that makes them seem divine ;] Government, in the language of that time, signified evenness of temper, and decency of manners. JOHNSON. 5 septentrion.] i. e. the North. Septentrio, Lat. But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, He gives back the Handkerchief. And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland? Think but upor the wrong he did us all, 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. 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.'How fares my brother? why is he so 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. * Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Methought, he bore him-] i. e. he demeaned himself. "And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!] Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course. 8 * How well resembles it the prime of youth, * Edw. "Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; 9 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. ‹ But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel 8 Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. motion. the racking clouds,] i. e. the clouds in rapid, tumultuary blazing by our meeds,] Meed here means merit. 10, speak no more!] The generous tenderness of Edward, and savage fortitude of Richard, are well distinguished by their different reception of their father's death. JOHNSON. 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'd Troy. * But Hercules himself must yield to odds; * And many strokes, though with a little axe, * Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdu'd; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 6 '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 staff, no stay!* O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain * The flower of Europe for his chivalry; * And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd 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 '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 bur den; 2 VOL. VI. the hope of Troy-] Hector. Ꭰ |