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