Oxf. Let's levy men, and beat him back again. Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;

Those will I muster up-and thou, son Clarence,
Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:--
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st:
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,
In Oxfordshire shall muster up thy friends.-
My sovereign, with the loving citizens,—
Like to his island, girt in with the ocean,
Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs,―
Shall rest in London, till we come to him.—
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.-
Farewell, my sovereign.

K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.
Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.
K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!
Mont. Comfort, my lord ;—and so I take my leave.
Oxf. And thus [Kissing HENRY's hand.] I seal my
truth, and bid adieu.

K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry.
[Exeunt WAR. CLAR. OXF. and MONT.

K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?

Methinks, the power, that Edward hath in field,
Should not be able to encounter mine.

Ere. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.

K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed hath got me fame.

I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,

Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears:
I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
Then why should they love Edward more than me?
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,

The lamb will never cease to follow him.

[Shout within. A Lancaster! A Lancaster! Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER, and Soldiers.
K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him
hence,

And once again proclaim us king of England.—
You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow:
Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
And swell so much the higher by their ebb.-
Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.

[Exeunt some with King HENRY. And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, Where perem ory Warwick now remains:

The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay,
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.

Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Coventry.

Enter, upon the Walls, WARWICK, the Mayor of Coventry, Two Messengers, and Others.

War. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?

How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. War. How far off is our brother Montague?— Where is the post that came from Montague? 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

Enter Sir JOHN SOMERVILLE.

War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now?
Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.

[Drum heard.

War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies; The drum, your honour hears, marcheth from Warwick. War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends. Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

2

Drums. Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER, and Forces,

marching.

K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. Glo. See how the surly Warwick mans the walls. War. O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair?

K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee?— Call Edward-king, and at his hands beg mercy, And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?— Call Warwick-patron, and be penitent,

And thou shalt still remain the duke of York.

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said the king;

Or did he make the jest against his will?

War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give;

I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's

gift.

War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:

And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,-
What is the body, when the head is off?

Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,