Fell gently down, as if they ftruck their friends, power; Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some fix miles off the Duke is with his And for your brother, he was lately fent From your kind aunt, Dutchefs of Burgundy, With aid of foldiers to this needful war. Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled; Oft have I heard his praifes in purfuit, But ne'er, till now his fcandal of retire. War. Nor now my fcandal, Richard, doft thou hear: For thou fhalt know, this ftrong right hand of mine Can pluck the Diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful scepter from his fift; Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace and prayer. Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not; 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak., But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our beads? Or fhall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the laft, fay, ay; and to it, Lords. you War. Why, therefore Warwick came to feek And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, Lords: the proud infulting Queen, With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, F 2 out; Have Have wrought the easy-melting King, like wax. With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick fpeak: Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy fhoulder will I lean, And he, that throws not up his cap for joy, Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as fteel, As thou haft fhewn it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. Edw. Then ftrike up, drums; God and St. George for us! Enter à Meffenger. War. How now? what news? Mef. The Duke of Norfolk fends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puiffant hoft; And And craves your company for speedy counfel. War. Why then it forts; brave warriors, let's away. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE changes to York. Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, and the Prince of Wales, with Drums and Trumpets. Qu. W 1 Elcome, my Lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, That fought to be encompast with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my Lord ? K. Henry. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their wreck; To fee this fight, it irks my very foul: With-hold revenge, dear God; tis not my fault, Clif. My gracious Liege, this too much lenity To whom do Lions caft their gentle looks? The fmalleft worm will turn, being trodden on; F 3 Which Which fometimes they have as'd with fearful flight) Should lofe his birth-right by his father's fault; Ah, what a shame was this! look on the boy, To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. But, Clifford, tell me, didft thou never hear, As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, Ah, Coufin York: 'would, thy best friends did know, Queen. My Lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are nigh; And this foft courage makes your followers faint; You promis'd knighthood to our forward fon, Unfheath your fword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. K. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arise a Knight; And learn this leffon, draw thy fword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel ufe it to the death. Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince. Enter Enter a Meffenger. Mef. Royal commanders, be in readiness; Chf. I would, your highnefs would depart the field: The Queen hath beft fuccefs, when you are absent. Queen. 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 refolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble Lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unfheath your fword, good father; cry, St. George! March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace, And fet thy Diadem upon my head; Or 'bide the mortal fortune of the field? Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud infulting 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 confent ; Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, To blot out me, and put his own fon in. Clif. And reafon too: Who fhould fucceed the father, but the fon ? Rich. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak. Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I ftand to answer thee, Or any he the proudeft of thy fort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? F 4 Clif |