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York. I thank thee, Clifford : Say, what news with
Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake ;
mad? K. Hen. Ay, Clifford : a bedlam and ambitious hu
Makes him oppose himself against his king.
Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his.
Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons,
says, shall give their words for him.
York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
Drums. Enter Warwick and SALISBURY, with Porces.
Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.
Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld ;
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!
York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself
grace The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolv'd for death, or dignity.
Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
Clif. I am resolv’d to bear a greater storm,
War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear.
Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels, and their 'complices.
Rich. Fye! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.
Y. Clif. Foul stigmatick, that's more than thou canst
tell. Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
SCENE II.—Saint Albans.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter WARWICK. War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls ! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now,—when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed ;
for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chace, For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War. Then, nobly, York;'tis for a crown thou fightst.As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. [Erit WAR.
Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why dost thou
pause? York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
York. So let it help me now against thy sword,
Clif. My soul and body on the action both !--
[They fight, and CLIFFORD falls. Clif. La fin couronne les oeuvres.
[Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art
still. Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit.
Enter Young CLIFFORD.
[Seeing his dead Father.