Unreasonable creatures feed their young, Who hath not seen them (even with those wings Should lofe his birth-right by his father's fault, Ah, what a fhame was this! look on the boy, To hold thine own, and leave thine own 7 'to` him. 8 But, Clifford, tell me, didft thou never hear, Whofe father for his hoarding went to hell?. As brings a thoufand-fold more care to keep, Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! Q. Mar. My Lord, cheer up your fpirits, 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. 7 with 8 ill-got had ever bad Prince. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as Apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince. Mef. Royal commanders, be in readiness; Clif. I would your Highness would depart the field: The Queen hath beft fuccefs when you are abfent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Henry. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with refolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer thefe noble Lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unheath your sword, 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? Q. Mar. 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, You that are King, though he do wear the crown, To blot out me and put his own fon in. Clif. And reason too: Who fhould fucceed the father, but the fon? Rich. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot fpeak. Clif. Ay crook-back, here I ftand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy fort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not fatisfy'd. crown? Rich. For God's fake, Lords, give signal to the fight. War. What fay't thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the [you speak? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare When you and I met at St. Albans laft, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. Clif. I flew thy father, call'ft thou him a child? [fpeak. K.Henry. Have done with words, my Lords, and hear me Q. Mar. Defie them then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Henry. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a King, and privileg'd to fpeak. Clif. My Liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cur'd by words, therefore be ftill. Rich. Then, execution, re-unfheath thy fword: 9 for scarce War. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head! For York in juftice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right which Warwick fays is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands, For well I wot thou haft thy mother's tongue. Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy fire nor dam, But like a foul mishapen ftigmatick, Mark'd by the deftinies to be avoided, As venomous toads, or lizards dreadful ftings. Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, Edw. A wifp of ftraw were worth a thousand crowns, For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Had flipt our claim until another age. Cla. But when we faw our fun-fhine made thy fpring, And that thy fummer bred us no increase, We fet the ax to thy ufurping root; And though the edge hath fomething hit our felves, Yet Yet know thou, fince we have begun to strike, Since thou deny'dft the gentle King to fpeak. Q. Mar. Stay, Edward Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer ftay. Thefe words will coft ten thousand lives this day. SCENE A Field of Battle. [Exeunt omnes. V. Alarum. Excurfions. Enter Warwick. Enter Edward running. Edw. Smile, gentle heav'n; or ftrike, ungentle death; For this world frowns, and Edward's fun is clouded. War. How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good? Enter Clarence. Cla. Our hap is lofs, our hope but fad despair, Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.. What counsel give you? whither fhall we fly? Edw. Bootlefs is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot fhun pursuit. Enter |