King. Full well hath Clifford plaid the Orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force: But Clifford tell me, did'st thou neuer heare, That things ill got, had euer bad successe. And happy alwayes was it for that Sonne, Whose Father for his hoording went to hell: Ile leaue my Sonne my Vertuous deeds behinde, And would my Father had left me no more: For all the rest is held at such a Rate, As brings a thousand fold more care to keepe, Then in possession any iot of pleasure. Ah Cosin Yorke, would thy best Friends did know, How it doth greeue me that thy head is heere

Qu. My Lord cheere vp your spirits, our foes are nye, And this soft courage makes your Followers faint: You promist Knighthood to our forward sonne, Vnsheath your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneele downe

King. Edward Plantagenet, arise a Knight, And learne this Lesson; Draw thy Sword in right

Prin. My gracious Father, by your Kingly leaue, Ile draw it as Apparant to the Crowne, And in that quarrell, vse it to the death

Clif. Why that is spoken like a toward Prince. Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royall Commanders, be in readinesse, For with a Band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwicke backing of the Duke of Yorke, And in the Townes as they do march along, Proclaimes him King, and many flye to him, Darraigne your battell, for they are at hand

Clif. I would your Highnesse would depart the field, The Queene hath best successe when you are absent

Qu. I good my Lord, and leaue vs to our Fortune

King. Why, that's my fortune too, therefore Ile stay

North. Be it with resolution then to fight

Prin. My Royall Father, cheere these Noble Lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Vnsheath your Sword, good Father: Cry S[aint]. George.

March. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, Clarence, Norfolke, Mountague, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now periur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace? And set thy Diadem vpon my head? Or bide the mortall Fortune of the field

Qu. Go rate thy Minions, proud insulting Boy, Becomes it thee to be thus bold in termes, Before thy Soueraigne, and thy lawfull King? Ed. I am his King, and he should bow his knee: I was adopted Heire by his consent

Cla. Since when, his Oath is broke: for as I heare, You that are King, though he do weare the Crowne, Haue caus'd him by new Act of Parliament, To blot out me, and put his owne Sonne in

Clif. And reason too, Who should succeede the Father, but the Sonne

Rich. Are you there Butcher? O, I cannot speake

Clif. I Crooke-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd yong Rutland, was it not? Clif. I, and old Yorke, and yet not satisfied

Rich. For Gods sake Lords giue signall to the fight

War. What say'st thou Henry, Wilt thou yeeld the Crowne? Qu. Why how now long-tongu'd Warwicke, dare you speak? When you and I, met at S[aint]. Albons last, Your legges did better seruice then your hands

War. Then 'twas my turne to fly, and now 'tis thine: Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled

War. 'Twas not your valor Clifford droue me thence

Nor. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reuerently, Breake off the parley, for scarse I can refraine The execution of my big-swolne heart Vpon that Clifford, that cruell Child-killer

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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