Edward. I heare their Drummes: Let's set our men in order, And issue forth, and bid them Battaile straight
Yorke. Fiue men to twentie: though the oddes be great, I doubt not, Vnckle, of our Victorie. Many a Battaile haue I wonne in France, When as the Enemie hath beene tenne to one: Why should I not now haue the like successe?
Enter Rutland, and his Tutor.
Rutland. Ah, whither shall I flye, to scape their hands? Ah Tutor, looke where bloody Clifford comes. Enter Clifford.
Clifford. Chaplaine away, thy Priesthood saues thy life. As for the Brat of this accursed Duke, Whose Father slew my Father, he shall dye
Tutor. And I, my Lord, will beare him company
Clifford. Souldiers, away with him
Tutor. Ah Clifford, murther not this innocent Child, Least thou be hated both of God and Man. Enter.
Clifford. How now? is he dead alreadie? Or is it feare, that makes him close his eyes? Ile open them
Rutland. So looks the pent-vp Lyon o're the Wretch, That trembles vnder his deuouring Pawes: And so he walkes, insulting o're his Prey, And so he comes, to rend his Limbes asunder. Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy Sword, And not with such a cruell threatning Looke. Sweet Clifford heare me speake, before I dye: I am too meane a subiect for thy Wrath, Be thou reueng'd on men, and let me liue
Clifford. In vaine thou speak'st, poore Boy: My Fathers blood hath stopt the passage Where thy words should enter
Rutland. Then let my Fathers blood open it againe, He is a man, and Clifford cope with him
Clifford. Had I thy Brethren here, their liues and thine Were not reuenge sufficient for me: No, if I digg'd vp thy fore-fathers Graues, And hung their rotten Coffins vp in Chaynes, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the House of Yorke, Is as a furie to torment my Soule: And till I root out their accursed Line, And leaue not one aliue, I liue in Hell. Therefore- Rutland. Oh let me pray, before I take my death: To thee I pray; sweet Clifford pitty me
Clifford. Such pitty as my Rapiers point affords
Rutland. I neuer did thee harme: why wilt thou slay me? Clifford. Thy Father hath
Rutland. But 'twas ere I was borne. Thou hast one Sonne, for his sake pitty me, Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust, He be as miserably slaine as I. Ah, let me liue in Prison all my dayes, And when I giue occasion of offence, Then let me dye, for now thou hast no cause
Clifford. No cause? thy Father slew my Father: therefore dye
Rutland. Dij faciant laudis summa sit ista tuŠ
Clifford. Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet: And this thy Sonnes blood cleauing to my Blade, Shall rust vpon my Weapon, till thy blood Congeal'd with this, doe make me wipe off both. Enter.
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of Yorke.
Yorke. The Army of the Queene hath got the field: My Vnckles both are slaine, in rescuing me; And all my followers, to the eager foe Turne back, and flye, like Ships before the Winde, Or Lambes pursu'd by hunger-starued Wolues. My Sonnes, God knowes what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they haue demean'd themselues Like men borne to Renowne, by Life or Death. Three times did Richard make a Lane to me, And thrice cry'de, Courage Father, fight it out: And full as oft came Edward to my side, With Purple Faulchion, painted to the Hilt, In blood of those that had encountred him: And when the hardyest Warriors did retyre, Richard cry'de, Charge, and giue no foot of ground, And cry'de, A Crowne, or else a glorious Tombe, A Scepter, or an Earthly Sepulchre. With this we charg'd againe: but out alas, We bodg'd againe, as I haue seene a Swan With bootlesse labour swimme against the Tyde, And spend her strength with ouer-matching Waues.