These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

[Exeunt. SCENE III-A field of battle between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.

'War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 'And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while. Enter Edward, running.

'Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle

death!

'For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is

clouded.

War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

Enter George.

* Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 'Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: 'What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;

'And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. Enter Richard.

'Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

'Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 'Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; 'And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,'Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! 'So underneath the belly of their steeds, 'That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 'The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:

I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

* Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, * Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; * And look upon, as if the tragedy * Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 'Here on my knee I vow to God above, 'I'll never pause again, never stand still, 'Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 'Or fortune given me measure of revenge. Ede. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 'And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.<* And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, *I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings! Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands, That to my foes this body must be prey,'Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. Rich. Brother, give me thy hand:-and, gentle Warwick,

'Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:'I, that did never weep, now melt with wo, "That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 'War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 'And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars, that will stand to us; • And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 'As victors wear at the Olympian games:

(1) And are mere spectators.

*This may plant courage in their quailing2 breasts ; For yet is hope of life, and victory.*Fore-slow3 no longer, make we hence amain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 'Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,

'Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and To execute the like upon thyself; brother,

And so, have at thee.

[Exe.

For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.
SCENE V.-Another part of the field. Alarum.
Enter King Henry.

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, *Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; Now, one the better; then, another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered: 'So is the equal poise of this fell war. *Here on this molehill will I sit me down. *To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both, They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so ; 'For what is in this world, but grief and wo? *O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, * How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: *So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself: So many days my ewes have been with young; *So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years * Pass'd over to the end they were created, *Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. *Ah, what a life were this! how sweet; how lovely! * Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade *To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, *Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

(2) Sinking into dejection.

(3) To fore-slow is to be dilatory, to loiter,

*To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? *O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth. *And to conclude,-the shepherd's homely curds, * His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, * His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, *All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, *Is far beyond a prince's delicates, * His viands sparkling in a golden cup, *His body couched in a curious bed,

* When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns: *And I, that haply take them from him now, *May yet ere night yield both my life and them *To some man else, as this dead man doth me."Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face, 'Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. 'O heavy times, begetting such events! 'From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 'Have by my hands of life bereaved him.'Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!

My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; * And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 'Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.* Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; *And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, * Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief.

Enter a Father who has killed his son, with the body in his arms.

'Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 'Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; "For I have bought it with a hundred blows.'But let me see:-is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, *Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, *Upon thy wounds, that kill mixe eye and heart!O, pity, God, this miserable age!"What stratagems,' how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! K. Hen. Wo above wo! grief more than common grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! *O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: *The one, his purple blood right well resembles; *The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! 'If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied? Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my

'K. Hen. How will the country for these wo ful chances,

Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? 'Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'da son? 'K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' wo?

Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit, with the body. *Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;

*My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre : *For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. *My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, *Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons, I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that w 1, For I have murder'd where I should not kill. [Exit, with the body. 'K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with

care,

'Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales, and Exeter.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

'And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 'Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, 'And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. 'Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them:

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; Or else come after, I'll away before.

'K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 'Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-The same. A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.

Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,
Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.
O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee;
• And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies!
O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
*They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much
lenity?

(3) Careful of obsequies, or funeral rites,

Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; 'No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. 'The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 'I stabb'd your father's bosom, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and soldiers. 'Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,

'And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.

War. They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou

wast wont. *

* Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen "That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 'As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 'Command an argosy to stem the waves. 'But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them! War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead." [Clifford groans and dies. Edie. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

Ede. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. 'Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ;

"Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 'But set his murdering knife unto the root 'From whence that tender spray did sweetly

spring,

'I mean our princely father, duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: 'Instead whereof, let this supply the room; Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

"That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
'Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
'And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[Attendants bring the body forward.
War. I think his understanding is bereft:-
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to
thee?

Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth; "Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 'Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, 'Which in the time of death he gave our father. Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.2

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Ede. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
'Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to
York.

Edo. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?

(1) For separation.

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not
dread

The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz, to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; And never will I undertake the thing, *Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster :'And George, of Clarence;-Warwick, as ourself, 'Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster;

For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these honours in possession.

ACT III.

[Exeunt

*1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow

Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. *Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, *I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,

In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of

pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight, No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; (4) Thicket.

K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France for aid;

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: If this news be true, 'Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost; "For Warwick is a subtle orator,

And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. "By this account, then, Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: *Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn; *And Nero will be tainted with remorse, *To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give : She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry; He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says-her Henry is depos'd; He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd;

That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no

wrong,

* Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; * And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, *With promise of his sister, and what else, *To strengthen and support king Edward's place. *O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, * Art then forsaken, as thou went's forlorn.

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?

'K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:

"A man at least, for less I should not be ; And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

'2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;

Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, * Nor to be seen. 'my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with
content,

Your crown content, and you, must be contented
To go along with us: for, as we think,
"You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd;
"And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
"Will apprehend you as his enemy.

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break
an oath?

2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now.

I

Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, * Obeying with my wind when I do blow, * And yielding to another when it blows, *Commanded always by the greater gust; *Such is the lightness of you common men.

But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin *My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; *And be you kings; command, and I'll obey. * 1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king Edward.

*K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, *If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the king's,

To go with us unto the officers.

'K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:

* And what God will, then let your king perform; *And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and Lady Grey.

'K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans'

field

This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain,
His lands then sc.z'd on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands;
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
'The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit;

*It were dishonour, to deny it her.

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'lı make a

pause. 'Glo. Yea! is it so?

see the lady hath a thing to grant,

Before the king will grant her humble suit. Clar. He knows the game; How true he keeps the wind!

Glo. Silence!

[Aside. Aside.

K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time, to know our mind. 'L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook

delay: