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While you are thus employed, what resteth more
But that I feek occafion how to rife?

And yet the King not privy to my drift,

Nor any of the house of Lancaster.

Enter Messenger..

But stay, what news? why com'ft thou in fuch poft ?
Gab. The Queen, with all the northern Earls and
Lords,

Intend here to befiege you in your caftle.

She is hard by, with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortifie your Hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my fword. What! think'ft thou, that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you fhall stay with me;.
My brother Montague fhall poft to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left Protectors of the King,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And truft not fimple Henry nor his oaths.

Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not.
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit Montague.

Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer.

York, Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen means to besiege us..

Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

mifing Epithet, in York's behalf, from the Kentishmen being fo witty? I can't be so partial, however, to my own Country, as to let this compliment pafs. I make no doubt to read;

-For they are Soldiers, Wealthy, and courteous, liberal, full of Spirit.

Now thefe 5 Characteristicks answer to lord Say's Defcription of them in the preceding Play.

Kent, in the Commentaries Cæfar writ;

Is term'd the civil'ft Place in all this ifle;
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy.

York.

York. What, with five thousand men?

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's General; what should we fear?

[A March afar off.

Edw. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in order, And iffue forth and bid them battle ftrait.

York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, Uncle, of our victory.

Many a battel have I won in France,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
Why should I not now have the like fuccefs?

[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE, a Field of Battle betwixt Sandal-Castle

Rut.

and Wakefield.

Enter Rutland and his Tutor.

H, whither fhall I fly to 'fcape their hands?
Ah, Tutor, look, where bloody Clifford

comes.

Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life; As for the Brat of this acurfed Duke,

Whofe father flew my father, he shall die.

Tutor. Ard I, my lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce, Tutor. Ah! Clifford, murther not this innocent child, Left thou be hated both of God and man,

[Exit, dragg'd off.

Clif. How now? is he dead already? or, is it fear
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.
Rut. So looks the pent-up Lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And fo he walks infulting o'er his prey,
And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder.
Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy fword,
And not with fuch a cruel threatning look.

Sweet

Sweet Clifford, hear me fpeak before I die:
I am too mean a Subject of thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou fpeak'ft, poor boy: my father's
blood

Hath ftopt the paffage where thy words should enter.
Rut. Then let my father's blood open't again:
He is a man, and, Clifford, coape with him.

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not Revenge fufficient for me:

No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves.
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not flake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The fight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my foul:

And till I root out their accurfed Line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore

death:

Rut. O let me pray, before I take my
To thee I pray-fweet Clifford, pity me.
Clif. Such pity, as my rapier's point affords.

Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?
Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one fon, for his fake pity me;

Left in revenge thereof, (fith God is juft)

He be as miferably flain as I,

Ah, let me live in prifon all my days,
And when I give occafion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou haft no cause.
Clif. No caufe!

Thy father flew my father, therefore die.

[Dies.

[Clif. ftabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis fumma fit ifta tue! Clif. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet!

And this thy fon's blood cleaving to my blade
Shall ruft upon my weapon, till thy blood,

Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

Alarum,

Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York.

York. The Army of the Queen hath got the field: My Uncles both are flain in refcuing me,

And all my Followers to the

eager foe
Turn Back, and fly like fhips before the wind,
Or lambs purfu'd by hunger ftarved wolves.
My Sons, God knows, what hath bechanced them:
But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to Renown, by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cry'd, Courage, father! fight it out;
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of thofe, that had encounter'd him:
And when the hardieft warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, Charge! and give no foot of ground;
And cry'd, a Crown, or elfe a glorious tomb,
A Scepter or an earthly Sepulchre.

With this we charg'd again; but out! alas,
We bodg'd again; as I have feen a Swan
With bootlefs labour swim against the tide,
And spend her ftrength with over matching waves.
[A fhort alarum within.
Ah! hark, the fatal followers do purfue,.

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury,
And were I ftrong, I would not fhun their fury.
The fands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I ftay, and here my life must end.

Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the Prince of Wales, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchlefs fury to more Rage:
I am your Butt, and I abide your Shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to fuch Mercy as his ruthlefs arm
With downright payment fhew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his Car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick.
York. My afhes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth

A bird.

A bird that will revenge upon you all :
And in that Hope I throw mine eyes to heav'n,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes.

fear?

Clif. So cowards fight, when the can fly no farther
So Doves do peck the Falcon' piercing talons;
So defp'rate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that flanders him with cowardife,
Whose frown hath made thee faint, and fly ere this.
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.

Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes
I would prolong a while the traitor's life:
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him fo much,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might fpurn him with his foot away?"
It is war's prize to take all vantages;

And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

Clif. Ay, ay, fo ftrives the woodcock with the gin.
North. So doth the cony ftruggle in the net.

[In the Struggle York is taken Prifoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty : So true men yield, with robbers fo o'er-matcht..

North. What would your Grace have done unto him now?

Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come make him ftand upon this mole-hill here; That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms, Yet parted but the fhadow with his hand. What! was it you, that would be England's King? Was't you, that revell'd in our Parliament, And made a preachment of your high Defcent? Where are your mess of fons to back you now,

The

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