Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy?
And he fhall pardon thee these outrages.

War. Nay rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confefs who fet thee up and pluck'd thee down,
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent?

And thou shalt ftill remain the Duke of York.

Glo. I thought at least he would have faid the King, Or did he make the jeft against his will?

War. Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift? Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give: I'll do thee fervice for fo good a gift.

War. 'Twas I that gave the Kingdom to thy brother.
K. Edw. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.
War. Thou art no Atlas for fo great a weight:
And, weakling! Warwick takes his gift again,
And Henry is my King, Warwick his fubject.

K. Edw. But Warwick's King is Edward's prifoner:
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,
What is the body when the head is off?

Glo. Alas! that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But while he thought to fteal the single ten,
The King was flily finger'd from the deck:
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even fo, yet you are Warwick ftill.
Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel

[down:

Nay, when? ftrike now, or else the iron cools.
War. I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,

And with the other fling it at thy face,

Than bear fo low a fail to ftrike to thee.

[friend,

K. Edw. Sail how thou canft, have wind and tide thy

This hand, faft wound about thy coal-black hair,
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the duft this fentence with thy blood,
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.

SCENE

Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

War. O chearful colours! fee where Oxford comes!
Oxf. Oxford! Oxford! for Lancaster.

Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other foes may fet upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they no doubt
Will iffue out again and bid us battel:
If not, the city being of fmall defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the fame.
War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.

Mont. Montague! Montague! for Lancaster.
Glo. Thou and thy brother both fhall buy this treason
Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory;
My mind prefageth happy gain and conquest.

Enter Somerfet, with Drum and Colours.

Som. Somerfet! Somerfet! for Lancaster.

Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have fold their lives unto the house of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this fword hold.

Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.

War. And lo! where George of Clarence fweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battel:

With whom an upright zeal to right prevails

More than the nature of a brother's love.

Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.

Cla. Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

Look here, I throw my infamy at thee:

[Takes his red rofe out of his hat and throws

it towards Warwick.

I will not ruinate my father's house,

(Who

(Who gave his blood to lime the ftones together)
And fet up Lancaster. Why, trow'ft thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is fo harfh, fo blunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal inftruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Feptbah's, when he facrific'd his daughter.
I am fo forry for my trefpafs made,

That to deferve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim my felf thy mortal foe:
With refolution, wherefoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou ftir abroad,)
To plague thee for thy foul mif-leading me.
And fo, proud-hearted Warwick, I defie thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconftant.

K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,

Than if thou never hadft deferv'd our hate.

Glo. Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like.
War. O paffing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!

K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?

Or fhall we beat the ftones about thine ears?

Wer. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:

I will away towards Barnet prefently,

And bid thee battel, Edward, if thou dar'ft.

[way:

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the Lords! to the field; St. George and victory! [Exeunt, March. Warwick and his Company follow.

SCENE

Alarum and Excurfions. Enter King Edward bringing forth Warwick wounded.

K. Edw. SO, lye thou there; die thou, and die our fear For Warwick was a bug that fcar'd us all.

Now, Montague, fit faft, I feek for thee,

That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit.
War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body fhews,

My blood, my want of ftrength, my fick heart fhews,
That I muft yield my body to the earth,
And by my fall, the conqueft to my foe.
Thus yields the Cedar to the ax's edge,
Whofe arms gave fhelter to the princely eagle,
Under whofe fhade the ramping lion slept,

Whofe top-branch over-peer'd Jove's, fpreading tree,
And kept low fhrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
Thefe eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day fun,

To fearch the fecret treafons of the world.

The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to kingly fepulchres:

For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave?
And who durft fmile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory fmcar'd in dust and blood,
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forfake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ?
And live we how we can, yet die we muft.

Enter

Enter Oxford and Somerfet.

Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, We might recover all our lofs again:

The Queen from France hath brought a puiffant power.
Ev'n now we heard the news: ah, could'st thou fly!
War. Why then I would not fly. Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, fweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my foul a while.
Thou lov'ft me not; for, brother, if thou didft,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glews my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his laft,
And to the latest gafp cry'd out for Warwick:
And faid, Commend me to my valiant brother.
And more he would have faid, and more he spoke,
Which founded like a cannon in a vault,
That might not be diftinguifh'd; but at last
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,

Ob! farewel, Warwick!

War. Sweetly reft his foul!

Fly, Lords, and fave your felves, for Warwick bids

You all farewel, to meet again in heaven.

[Dies

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power.
[They bear away bis Body, and Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Another part of the Field.

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Gloucester, Clarence, and the reft.

K. Edw.THUS far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.

But in the midst of this bright-fhining day,
I fpy a black, fufpicious, threat-ning cloud,

That