Som. O monftrous traitor! I arreft thee, York, Of capital treafon 'gainst the King and crown; Obey, audacious traitor, kneel for grace. York. Sirrah, call in my fons to be my bail: I know, ere they will let me go to ward, Enter Edward Plantagenet and Richard Plantagenet. See where they come, I'll warrant they'll make it good. Enter Clifford. Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Clif. Health and all happinefs to my Lord the King! York. I thank thee, Clifford; fay, what news with thee? Nay, do not fright me with an angry look: We are thy Sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; Clif. This is my King, York, I do not mistake, K. Henry, Ay, Clifford, a Bedlam and ambitious humour M 4 1 Would't have me kneel? firft let me ask of these If they can brook I bow a knee to man. Q. Mar. Sirrah, call in my fons to be my bail: ... old edit. Warb, tranf. Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey: His fons, he says, fhall give their words for him.' York. Will you not, fons? E. Plan. Ay, noble father, if our words will ferve. R. Plan And if words will not, then our weapons fhall. Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! York. Look in a glafs, and call thy image fo. I am the King, and thou a falfe-heart traitor; Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, a That with the very fhaking of their chains They may aftonifh thefe feil-lurking curs: Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. Enter the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick. Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou dar'it bring them to the baiting-place. R. Plan. Oft have I feen a hot o'er-weening cur If you oppofe your felves to match Lord Warwick. York. Nay, we fhall heat you thoroughly anon. Thou mad mif-leader of thy brain-fick son, What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, Where (a) Alluding to the Nevils' creft which was the Bear and ragged ftaff. Where fhall it find a harbour in the earth? my felf Sal. I have. [oath? K. Henry. Canft thou dispense with heav'n for fuch an Sal. It is great fin to fwear unto a fin; But greater fin to keep a finful oath: Who can be bound by any folemn vow To do a murd'rous deed, to rob a man, To force a fpotlefs virgin's chastity, To 'reave the orphan of his patrimony, To wring the widow from her cuftom'd right, And have no other reafon for his wrong, But that he was bound by a folemn oath? Q. Mar. A fubtle traitor needs no fophifter. K. Henry. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. York. Call Buckingham and all the friends thou haft, I am refolv'd for death or dignity. Old Clif. The firft, I warrant thee; if dreams prove true. War. You were beft go to bed and dream again, To keep thee from the tempeft of the field. That That keeps his leaves in fpight of any storm) R. Plan. Fie, charity for fhame, fpeak not in fpight, For you shall fup with Jefu Chrift to-night. tell. r. Clif. Foul ftigmatick, that's more than thou can'it R. Plan. If not in heav'n, you'll furely fup in hell.· [Exeunt. War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls; And if thou doft not hide thee from the bear, Now when the angry trumpet founds alarum, Enter York. War. How now, my noble Lord? what all a-foot? Enter Clifford.. War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick: feek thee out fome other chase, For I my felf muft hunt this deer to death. War. War. Then nobly, York! 'tis for a crown thou fight'ft: As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my foul to leave thee unaffail'd. [Exit Warwick. Clif. What feeft thou in me, York? why doft thou pause? York. With thy brave bearing fhould I be in love, But that thou art fo faft mine enemy. Clif. Nor fhould thy prowefs want praise and efteem, But that 'tis fhewn ignobly, and in treafon. York. So let it help me now against thy fword, As I in justice and true right express it! Clif. My foul and body on the action both! York. A dreadful lay, addrefs thee inftantly. Clif. La fin couronne les auvres. [Fight. [Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art ftill; Peace with his foul, heav'n, if it be thy will! Enter young Clifford. r. Clif. Shame and confufion! all is on the rout: Hath no felf-love; for he that loves himself And the premised flames of the laft day [Seeing bis Father. Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, To cease! Waft thou ordained, O dear father, And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus My |