to flie no strength to hold our flight The foe is mercilesse and will not pittie me And at their hands I haue deserude no pittie The aire is got into my bleeding wounds And much effuse of bloud doth make me faint Come Yorke and Richard Warwike and the rest I stabde your fathers now come split my brest Enter Edward Richard and Warwike and Souldiers Edw. Thus farre our fortunes keepes an vpward Course and we are grast with wreathes of victorie Some troopes pursue the bloudie minded Queene That now towards Barwike 〈…〉 amaâ—â—e But thinke you that Clifford is sled awaie with them War No t is impossible he should escape For though before his face I speake the words Your brother Richard markt him for the graue And where so ere he be I warrant him dead Clifford grones and then dies Edw. Harke what soule is this that takes his heauy leaue Rich. A deadlie grone like life and deaths departure Edw. See who it is and now the battailes ended Friend or foe let him be friendlie vsed Rich. Reuerse that doome of mercie for t is Clifford Who kild our tender brother Rutland And stabd our princelie father Duke of Yorke War From off the gates of Yorke fetch downe the Head Your fathers head which Clifford placed there Insteed of that let his supplie the roome Measure for measure must be answered Edw. Bring forth that fatall skrichowle to our house That nothing sung to vs but bloud and death Now his euill boding tongue no more shall speake War I thinke his vnderstanding is berest Say Clifford doest thou know who speakes to thee Darke cloudie death oreshades his beames of life And he nor sees nor heares vs what we saie Rich. Oh would he did and so perhaps he doth And t is his policie that in the time of death He might auoid such bitter stormes as he In his houre of death did giue vnto our father George Richard if thou thinkest so vex him with eagâ—r words Rich. Clifford aske mercie and obtaine no grace Edw. Clifford repent in bootlesse penitence War Clifford deuise excuses for thy fault George Whilst we deuise fell tortures for thy fault Rich. Thou pittiedst Yorke and I am sonne to Yorke Edw. Thou pittiedst Rutland and I will pittie thee George Where 's captaine Margaret to â—ence you now War They mocke thee Clifford sweare as thou wast wont Rich. What not an oth Nay then I know hee s dead T is hard when Clifford cannot foord his friend an oath By this I know hee s dead and by my soule Would this right hand buy but an howres life That I in all contempt might raile at him I de cut it off and with the issuing bloud Stifle the villaine whose inst inched thirst Yorke and young Rutland could not satisfie War I but he is dead off with the traitors head And reare it in the place your fathers stands And now to London with triumphant march There to be crowned Englands lawfull king From thence shall Warwike crosse the seas to France And aske the ladie Bona for thy Queene So shalt thou sinew both these landes togither And hauing France thy friend thou needst not dread The scattered foe that hopes to rise againe And though they cannot greatly sting to hurt Yet looke to haue them busie to offend thine eares First I le see the coronation done And afterward I le crosse the seas to France To effect this marriage if it please my Lord. Edw. Euen as thou wilt good Warwike let it be But first before we goe George kneele downe We here create thee Duke of Clarence and girt thee with the sword Our younger brother Richard Duke of Glocester Warwike as my selfe shal do vndo as him pleaseth best Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarenco George of Gloster For Glosters Duke dome is too ominous War Tush that 's a childish obseruation Richard be Duke of Gloster Now to London To see these honors in possession Exeunt Omnes Enter two keepers with bow and arrowes Keeper Come le ts take our stands vpon this hill And by and by the deere will come this waie But staie heere comeâ— a man le ts listen him a while Enter king Henrie disguisde Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue And thus disguisde to greet my natiue land No Henrie no It is no land of thine No bending knee will call thee Caesar now No humble suâ—â—â—s sues to thee for right For how canst thou helpe them and not thy selfe Keeper I marrie sir here is a deere his skin is a Keepers fee Sirra stand close for as I thinke This is the king king Edward hath deposde Hen. My Queene and sonne poore soules are gone to France and as I heare the great commanding Warwike To intreat a marriage with the ladie Bona If this be true poore Queene and sonne Your labour is but spent in vaine For Lewis is a prince soone wun with words And Warwike is a subtill Orator He laughes and saies his Edward is instalde She weepes and saies her Henry is deposde He on his right hand asking a wise for Edward She on his left side crauing aide for Henry Keeper What art thou that talkes of kings and queens Hen. More then I seeme for lesse I should not be A man at least and more I cannot be And men maie talke of kings and why not I Keeper I but thou talkest as if thou wert a king thy selfe Hen. Why so I am in mind though not in shew Keeper And if thou be a king where is thy crowne Hen. My crowne is in my hart not on my head My crowne is calde content a crowne that Kings doe seldome times enioy Keeper And if thou be a king crownd with content Your crowne content and you must be content To go with vs vnto the officer for as we thinke You are our quondam king K. Edward hath deposde And therefore we charge you in Gods name the kings To go along with vs vnto the officers Hen. Gods name be fulfild your kings name be Obaide and be you kings command and I le obay Exeunt Omnes Enter king Edward Clarence and Gloster Montague Hastings and the Lady Gray K Edw. Brothers of Clarence and of Glocester This ladies husband heere sir Râ—chard Gray At the battaile of saint Alkones did lose his life His lands then were seazed on by the conqueror Her sute is now to repossesse those lands And sith in quarrell of the house of Yorke The noble gentleman did lose his life In honor we cannot denie her â—â—te Glo. Your highnesse shall doe well to grant it then K Edw I so I will but yet I le make a pause Glo. I is the wind in that doore Clarence I see the Lady hath some thing to grant Before the king will grant her humble lute Cla. He knows the game how well he keepes the wind K Ed. Widow come some other time to know our mind La. May it please your grace I cannot brooke
weare a crowne A crowne for Yorke and Lords bow low to him So hold you his hands whilst I doe set it on I now lookes he like a king This is he that tooke king Henries chaire And this is he was his adopted aire But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crownd so soone and broke his holie oath As I bethinke me you should not be king Till our Henry had shooke hands with death And will you impale your head with Henries glorie And rob his temples of the Diadem Now in his life against your holie oath Oh t is a fault too too vnpardonable Off with the crowne and with the crowne his head And whilst we breath taâ—e time to doe him dead Clif. That 's my office for my fathers death Queen Yet stay le ts here the Orisons he makes York She wolfe of France but worse than Wolues of France Whose tongue more poison'd than the Adders tooth How ill beseeming is it in thy sexe To triumph like an Amazonian trull Vpon his woes whom Fortune captiuates But that thy face is visard like vnchanging Made impudent by vse of euill deeds I would assaie proud Queene to make thee blush To tell thee of whence thou art from whom deriâ—de T were shame enough to shame thee wert thou not shamelesse Thy father beares the type of king of Naples Of both the Sissâ—les and Ierusalem Yet not so wealthie as an English yeoman Hath that poore Monarch taught thee to insult It needes not or it bootes thee not proud Queene Vnlesse the Adage must be verâ—â—â—de That beggers mâ—unted run their horse to death T is beautie that oft makes women proud But God he wots thy sâ—are thereof is small T is gouernmâ—nt that makes them most admirde The contrarie doth make thee wondred at T is vertue that makes them seeme deuine The want thereof makes thee abhominable Thou art as opposite to euerie good As the Antipodes are vnto vs Or as the south to the Septentrion Oh Tygers hart wrapt in a womans hide Hovv couldst thou draine the life bloud of the childe To bid the father wiâ—e his eies withall And yet be seene to beare a womans face Women are milde pittifull and flexible Thou indurate sterne rough râ—morcelesse Bids thou me rage why novv thou hast thy vvill Wouldst haue me weepe vvhy so thou hast thy vvish For raging windes blowes vp a storme of teares And when the rage alâ—ieâ— the raine begins These teares are my sweet Rutlands obsequies And euerie drop bâ—gs vengeance as it fals On thee fell Clifford and the false French woman North. Beshrevv me but his passions moue me so As hardlie can I checke mine eies from teares York That facâ— of his the hungrie Cannibals Could not haue tucht would not haue staind with bloud But you are more inhumaine more inexorable O ten times more then Tvgers of Arcadia See ruthlesse Queene a haplesse fathers teares This cloth thou dipts in bloud of my sweet boy And loe with teares I wash the bloud awaie Keepe thou the napkin and go boast of that And if thou tell the heauie storie well Vpon my soule the hearers will shee l teares I euen my soes will shee l fast falling teares And saie alas it was a pitteous deed Here take the crowne and with the crowne my curse And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reape at thy tvvo cruell hands Hard-harted Clifford take me from the world My soule to heauen my bloud vpon your heads North. Had he bin slaughterman of all my kin I could not chuse but weepe with him to see How inlie anger gripes his hart Quee. What weeping ripe my Lorde Northumberland Thinke but vpon the wrong he did vs all And that will quicklie drie your melting tears Clif. Thear 's for my oath thear 's for my fathers death Queene And thear 's to right our gentle harted kind York Open thy gates of mercie gratious God My soule flies foorth to meet with thee Queene Off with his head and set it on Yorke Gates So Yorke maie ouerlooke the towne of Yorke Exeunt omnes Enter Edward and Richard with drum and Souldiers Edw. After this dangerous fight and haplesse warre Hoâ— doth my noble brother Richard fare Rich. I cannot ioy vnâ—il I be resolu'de Where our â—â—ght valiant father is become Hâ—◠〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I see him beare himselfe As 〈…〉 â—idst a heard of neat So 〈…〉 our valiant father Me thinkes t is 〈◊〉 enough to be his sonne Three 〈…〉 in the aire Edw. 〈…〉 the 〈◊〉 opes her golden gates And takes her farewell of the glorious sun Daâ—â—◠〈…〉 doe I see three suns Rich Three glorious suns 〈◊〉 seperated by a racking Cloud but 〈◊〉 in a pale cleere shining skie 〈…〉 they ioine embrace and seeme to kisâ—e 〈…〉 vowde some league inuiolate 〈…〉 are they but one lampe one light one sun In this the heauens doth figure some euent Edw. I thinke it cites vs brother to the field That we the sonnes of braue Plantagenet Alreadie each one shining by his meed May ioine in one and ouerpeere the world As this the earth and therefore hence forward I le beare vpon my Target three faire shining suns But what art thou that lookest so heauilie Mes Oh one that was a wofull looker on When as the noble Duke of Yorke was slaine Edw. O speake no more for I can heare no more Rich. Tell on thy tale for I will heare it all Mes When as the noble Duke was put to slight And then pursu'de by Clifford and the Queene And manie souldiers mâ—â— who all at once Let driue at him and forst the Duke to yeeld And then they set him on a molehill there And crownd the gratious Duke in high despite Who then with â—â—ares began to waile his fall The 〈◊〉 Queene â—â—â—â—euing he did weepe Gaue hâ—m a handkercher to wipe his eies Dâ—pt in the bloud of sweet young Rutland By rough Clifford slâ—ine who weeping tooke it vp Then through hâ—s brest they thrust their bloudy swordes Who like a lâ—mbe fell at the butchers feete Then on the gates of Yorke they set his head And there it doth remaine the piteous spectacle That ere mine eies beheld Edw. Sweet Duke of Yorke our prop to leane vpon Now thou art gone there is no hope for vs Now my soules pallace is become a prison Oh would she breake from compasâ—e of my breast For neuer shall I haue more ioie Rich. I cannot weepe for all my breasts moisture Scarse serues to quench my furnacâ— burning hart I cannot ioie till this white rose be dide Euen in the hart bloud of the house of Lancaster Richard I bare thy name and I le reuenge thy death Or die my selfe in seeking of reuenge Edw. His name that valiant Duke hath lâ—ft with thee His chaire and Dukedome that remaines for me Rich. Nay if thou be that princely Eagles bird Shew thy descent by gazing gainst the sunne For chaire and dukedome Throne and
againe For yet there 's hope inough to win the daie Then let vs backe to cheere our fainting Troupes Lest they retire now we haue left the field War How now my lords what hap what hope of good Enter Richard running Rich. Ah Warwike why haste thou withdrawne thy selfe Thy noble father in the thickest thronges Cride still for Warwike his thrise valiant son Vntill with thousand swords he was beset And manie wounds made in hâ—s aged brest And as he tottering sate vpon his sleede He waâ—t his hand to me and cride aloud Richard commend me to my valiant sonne And stâ—ll he cride Warwike reuenge my death And with those words he tumbled off his horse And so the noble Salsbury gaue vp the ghost War â—hen let the earth be drunken with his bloud I le kill my horse because I wiâ—l not she And here to God of heauen I make a vow Neuer to passe from fâ—rth this bloudy field Till I am full reuenged for his death Edw. Lord Warwike Idâ—e bend my knees with thine And in that vow now ioine my soule to thee Thou setter vp and puller downe of kings vouchsafe a gentle victorie to vs Or let vs die before we loose the daie George Then let vs haste to cheere the souldiers hâ—rts And call them pillers that will stand to vs And hiely promise to remunerate Their trustie seruice in these dangerous warres Rich. Come come awaie and stand not to debate For yet is hope of fortune good enough Brothers giue me your hands and let vs part And take our leaues vntill we meet againe Where ere it be in heauen or in earth Now I that neuer wept now melt in wo To see these dire mishaps continue so Warwike farewel War Awaie awaie once more sweet Lords farewell Exeunt Omnes Alarmes and then enter Richard at one dore and Clifford at the other Rich. A Clifford a Clifford Clif. A Richard a Richard Rich. Now Clifford for Yorke young Rutlands death This thirsty sword that longs to drinke thy bloud Shall lop thy limmes and slise thy cursed hart For to reuenge the murders thou hast made Clif. Now Richard I am with thee here alone This is the hand that stabd thy father Yorke And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland And here 's the heart that triumphs in theâ—â— dâ—â—thes And cheeres these hands that slew thy 〈◊〉 and brother To execute the like vpon thy selfe And so haue at thee Alarmes They fight and then enters Warwike and rescues Richard then exeunt omnes Alarmes still and then enter Henry solus Hen. Oh gratious God of heauen looke downe on vs And set some endes to these incessant griefes How like a mastlesse ship vpon the seas This woful battaile doth continue still Now leaning this way now to that side driue And none doth know to whom the daie will fall O would my death might staie these ciuilliars Would I had neuer raind nor nere bin king Margret and Clifford chide me from the fielde Swearing they had best successe when I was thence Would God that I were dead so all were well Or would my crowne suffice I were content To yeeld it them and liue a priuate life Enter a souldier with a dead man in his armes Sould Il blowes the wind that profits no bodie This man that I haue slaine in fight to daie Maie be possessed of some store of crownes And I will search to find them if I can But stay Me thinkes it is my fathers face Oh I t is he whom I haue slaine in fight From London was I prest out by the king My father he came on the part of Yorke And in this conflict I haue slaine my father Oh pardon God I knew not what I did And pardon father for I knew thee not Enter an other souldier with a dead man 2. Soul Lie there thou that foughtst with me so stoutly Now let me see what store of gold thou haste But staie me thinkes this is no famous face Oh no it is my sonne that I haue slaine in sight O monstrous times begetting such euents How cruel bloudy and ironious This deadlie quarrell dailie doth beget Poore boy thy fâ—ther gaue thee lif too late And hath bâ—reau'de thee of thy life too sone King Wo aboue wo griefe more then common griese Whilst Lyons warre and battaile for their dens Poore lambs do feele the rigor of their wraths The red rose and the white are on his face The fatall colours of our striuing houses Wither one rose and let the other flourish For if you striue ten thousand liues must perish 1. Sould. How will my mother for my fathers death Take on with me and nere be satisfide 2. Sol. How will my wife for slaughter of my son Take on with me and nere be satisfide King How will the people now misdeeme their king Oh would my death their mindes could satisfie 1. Sould. Was euer son so rude his fathers bloud to spil 2 Soul Was euer father so vnnaturall his son to kill King Was euer king thus greeud and vexed still 1. Sould. I le beare thee hence from this accursed place For wo is me to see my fathers face Exit with his father 2. Soul I le beare thee hence let them fight that wil For I haue murdered where I should not kill Exit with his sonne K. Hen. Weepe wretched man I le lay thee teare for tear Here sits a king as woe begone as thee Alarmes and enter the Queene Queen Awaie my Lord to Barwicke presentlie The daie 〈…〉 our friends are murdered No hope is left for vs therefore awaie Enter prince Edward Prince Oh father flie our men haue left the field Take horse sweet father let vs saue our selues Enter Exeter Exet. Awaie my Lord for vengance comes along with him Nay stand not to expostulate make hast Or else come after I le awaie before K Hen. Naie staie good Exeter for I le along with thee Enter Clissord wounded with an arrow in his necke Clif. Heere burnes my candell ouâ— That whilst it lasted gaue king Henry light Ah Lancaster I feare thine ouerthrow More then my bodies parting from my soule My loue and feare glude manie friendes to thee And now I die that tough commixture melts Impairing Henry strengthened misproud Yorke The common people swarme like summer flies And whither flies the Gnats but to the sun And who shines now but Henries enemie Oh Phâ—â—bus hadst thou neuer giuen consent That Phâ—â—â—on should checke thy fierie steedes Thy burning carre had neuer scorcht the earth And Henry hadst thou liu'd as kings should doe And as thy father and his father did Giuing no foot vnto the house of Yorke I and ten thousand in this wofull land Had left no mourning Widdowes for our deathes And thou this daie hadst kept thy throne in peace For what doth cherish weedes but gentle aire And what makes robbers bold but lenitie Bootlesse are plaintes and curelesse are my woundes No waie