Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not fatisfy'd. Rich. For God's fake, Lords, give fignal to the fight. War. What fay'ft thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? Queen. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare you speak? When you and I met at St. Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. Clif. You faid fo much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. Nor. No, nor your manhood, that durft make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.Break off the parle, for fcarce I can refrain The execution of my big-fwoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Cliff. I flew thy father, call'ft thou him a child ? Rich. Ay, like a daftard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland: But, ere fun-fet, I'll make thee curfe the deed. K. Henry. Have done with words, my Lords, and hear me fpeak. Queen. Defy them then, or elfe hold clofe thy lips. K. Henry. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a King, and privileg'd to fpeak. Clif. My Liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be ftill. Rich. Then, executioner, unfheath thy fword: Prince. If that be right, which Warwick fays is right, There is no wrong, but ev'ry thing is right, Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother ftands, For, well I wot, thou haft thy mother's tongue. Queen. But thou art neither like thy fire or dam, But But like a foul mif- fhapen ftigmatick, Edw. A wifp of ftraw were worth a thousand crowns, Had flipt our claim until another age. Cla. But when we faw, our fun-fhine made thy fpring, And that thy fummer bred us no increase, We fet the ax to thy ufurping root; And though the edge hath fomething hit ourselves, Not willing any longer conference, F 5 Queen. Queen. Stay, Edward Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay : Thefe words will coft ten thousand lives this day. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE changes to a Field of Battle at Ferribridge in Yorkshire., War. Alarm. Excurfions. Enter Warwick. F Ore-spent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe : For ftrokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my ftrong-knit finews of their ftrength; And, fpight of spight, needs muft I reft a while." Enter Edward running. Edw. Smile, gentle heav'n! or ftrike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's fun is clouded. War. How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good? Enter Clarence. Cla. Our hap is lofs, our hope but fad defpair; Edw. Bootlefs is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot fhun pursuit. Enter Richard. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why haft thou withdrawn thyfelf? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, (5) Broach'd (5) Thy Brother's Blood the thirty Earth bath drunk,] This Paffage, from the Variation of the Copies, gave me no little Perplexity. The old Quarto applies this Defcription to the Death of Salisbury, Warwick's Father. But this was a notorious. Deviation from the Truth of History. For the Earl of Salisbury in the Battle at Wake Broach'd with the fteely point of Clifford's lance: That ftain'd their fetlocks in his fmoaking blood; War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood; rage; Were plaid in jeft by counterfeiting Actors? Edw. Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, field, wherein Richard Duke of York loft his Life, was taken prisoner, beheaded at Pomfret, and his Head, together with the Duke of York's, fix'd over York Gates. Then, the only Brother of Warwick, introduc'd in this Play, is the Marquis of Montacute: (or Montague, as he is call'd by our Author :) but he does not die, till ten years after, in the Battle at Barnet; where Warwick likewife was kill'd. The truth is, the Brother here mentioned, is no Perfon in the Drama: and his Death is only an incidental Piece of History. Con fulting the Chronicles, upon this Action at Ferribridge, I find him to have been a natural Son of Salisbury, (in that respect, a Brother to Warwick;) and esteem'd a valiant young Gentleman. Let 1 Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : I, that did never weep, now melt with woe; This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, Fore-flow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt. Excurfions. Enter Richard, and Clifford. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have fingled thee alone, Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone, And fo, have at thee. They fight. Warwick enters, Clifford flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, fingle out fome other chase, For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Alarm. Enter King Henry alone [Exeunt. K. Henry. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the fhepherd, blowing of his nails,. Can neither call it perfe& day nor nigh. Now fways it this way like a mighty fea Forc'd |