King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arme himselfe

Yorke. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolu'd for death and dignitie

Old Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreames proue true War. You were best to go to bed, and dreame againe, To keepe thee from the Tempest of the field

Old Clif. I am resolu'd to beare a greater storme, Then any thou canst coniure vp to day: And that Ile write vpon thy Burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy housed Badge

War. Now by my Fathers badge, old Neuils Crest, The rampant Beare chain'd to the ragged staffe, This day Ile weare aloft my Burgonet, As on a Mountaine top, the Cedar shewes, That keepes his leaues inspight of any storme, Euen to affright thee with the view thereof

Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet Ile rend thy Beare, And tread it vnder foot with all contempt, Despight the Bearard, that protects the Beare

Yo.Clif. And so to Armes victorious Father, To quell the Rebels, and their Complices

Rich. Fie, Charitie for shame, speake not in spight, For you shall sup with Iesu Christ to night

Yo.Clif. Foule stygmaticke that's more then thou canst tell

Ric. If not in heauen, you'l surely sup in hell.

Exeunt.

Enter Warwicke.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwicke calles: And if thou dost not hide thee from the Beare, Now when the angrie Trumpet sounds alarum, And dead mens cries do fill the emptie ayre, Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me, Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to armes. Enter Yorke.

War. How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot

Yor. The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed: But match to match I haue encountred him, And made a prey for Carrion Kytes and Crowes Euen of the bonnie beast he loued so well. Enter Clifford.

War. Of one or both of vs the time is come

Yor. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chace For I my selfe must hunt this Deere to death

War. Then nobly Yorke, 'tis for a Crown thou fightst: As I intend Clifford to thriue to day, It greeues my soule to leaue thee vnassail'd.

Exit War.

Clif. What seest thou in me Yorke? Why dost thou pause? Yorke. With thy braue bearing should I be in loue, But that thou art so fast mine enemie

Clif. Nor should thy prowesse want praise & esteeme, But that 'tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason

Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword, As I in iustice, and true right expresse it

Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both

Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly

Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes

Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for y art still, Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will. Enter yong Clifford.

Clif. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout, Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell, Whom angry heauens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part, Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye. He that is truly dedicate to Warre, Hath no selfe-loue: nor he that loues himselfe, Hath not essentially, but by circumstance The name of Valour. O let the vile world end, And the premised Flames of the Last day, Knit earth and heauen together. Now let the generall Trumpet blow his blast, Particularities, and pettie sounds To cease. Was't thou ordain'd (deere Father) To loose thy youth in peace, and to atcheeue The Siluer Liuery of aduised Age, And in thy Reuerence, and thy Chaire-dayes, thus To die in Ruffian battell? Euen at this sight, My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine, It shall be stony. Yorke, not our old men spares: No more will I their Babes, Teares Virginall, Shall be to me, euen as the Dew to Fire, And Beautie, that the Tyrant oft reclaimes, Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oyle and Flax: Henceforth, I will not haue to do with pitty. Meet I an infant of the house of Yorke, Into as many gobbits will I cut it As wilde Medea yong Absirtis did. In cruelty, will I seeke out my Fame. Come thou new ruine of olde Cliffords house: As did Aeneas old Anchyses beare, So beare I thee vpon my manly shoulders: But then, Aeneas bare a liuing loade; Nothing so heauy as these woes of mine. Enter Richard, and Somerset to fight.

The second Part of Henry the Sixt Page 41

William Shakespeare Plays

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