Part 35
_Northum._ Be thou a praie vnto the house of _Yorke_, And die in bands for this vnkingly deed. _Exit._ [eaa177]
_Clif._ In dreadfull warre maist thou be ouercome, Or liue in peace abandon’d and despisde. _Exit._
_Exet._ They seeke reuenge, and therefore will not yeeld my Lord. [eaa180]
_King._ Ah _Exeter_?
_War._ Why should you sigh my Lord?
_King._ Not for my selfe Lord _Warwike_, but my sonne, Whom I vnnaturallie shall disinherit. But be it as it maie: I heere intaile the Crowne ·eaa185· To thee and to thine heires, conditionallie, That here thou take thine oath, to cease these ciuill [eaa187] Broiles, and whilst I liue to honour me as thy king and Soueraigne.
_York._ That oath I willinglie take and will performe.
_War._ Long liue king _Henry_. _Plantagenet_ embrace him? [eaa190]
_King._ And long liue thou and all thy forward sonnes.
_York._ Now _Yorke_ and _Lancaster_ are reconcilde.
_Exet._ Accurst be he that seekes to make them foes,
Sound trumpets.
_York._ My Lord Ile take my leaue, for Ile to _Wakefield_, [eaa194] To my castell. _Exit Yorke_ and his sonnes. [eaa195]
_War._ And Ile keepe _London_ with my souldiers. _Exit._
_Norf._ And _I_le to _Norffolke_ with my followers. _Exit._
_Mont._ And I to the sea from whence I came. _Exit._
Enter the _Queene_ and the _Prince_.
_Exet._ My Lord here comes the Queen, Ile steale away.
_King._ And so will _I_. ·eaa200·
_Queene._ Naie staie, or else I follow thee. [eaa201]
_King._ Be patient gentle _Queene_, and then Ile staie.
_Quee._ What patience can there? ah timerous man, [eaa203] Thou hast vndoone thy selfe, thy sonne, and me, And giuen our rights vnto the house of _Yorke_. [eaa205] Art thou a king and wilt be forst to yeeld? Had I beene there, the souldiers should haue tost Me on their launces points, before I would haue Granted to their wils. The Duke is made Protector of the land: Sterne _Fawconbridge_ ·eaa210· Commands the narrow seas. And thinkst thou then To sseepe secure? I heere diuorce me _Henry_ [eaa212] From thy bed, vntill that Act of Parlement Be recalde, wherein thou yeeldest to the house of _Yorke_. The Northen Lords that haue forsworne thy colours, [eaa215] Will follow mine if once they see them spred, And spread they shall vnto thy deepe disgrace. Come sonne, lets awaie and leaue him heere alone. [eaa218]
_King._ Staie gentle _Margaret_, and here me speake.
_Queene._ Thou hast spoke too much alreadie, therefore be still. ·eaa220·
_King._ Gentle sonne _Edwarde_, wilt thou staie with me?
_Quee._ I, to be murdred by his enemies. _Exit._ [eaa222]
_Prin._ When I returne with victorie from the field, Ile see your Grace, till then Ile follow her. _Exit._
_King._ Poore _Queene_, her loue to me and to the prince Her sonne, ·eaa225· Makes hir in furie thus forget hir selfe. [eaa226] Reuenged maie shee be on that accursed Duke. Come cosen of _Exeter_, staie thou here, For _Clifford_ and those Northern Lords be gone I feare towards _Wakefield_, to disturbe the Duke. ·eaa230·
## SCENE II.
Enter _Edward_, and _Richard_, and _Montague_.
_Edw._ Brother, and cosen Montague, giue mee leaue to speake.
_Rich._ Nay, I can better plaie the Orator.
_Mont._ But I haue reasons strong and forceable.
Enter the Duke of _Yorke_.
_York._ Howe nowe sonnes what at a iarre amongst your selues?
_Rich._ No father, but a sweete contention, about that [eab005] which concernes your selfe and vs, The crowne of England father.
_York._ The crowne boy, why _Henries_ yet aliue, [eab008] And I haue sworne that he shall raigne in quiet till [eab009] His death. ·eab010·
_Edw._ But I would breake an hundred othes to raigne [eab011] one yeare.
_Rich._ And if it please your grace to giue me leaue, Ile shew your grace the waie to saue your oath, And dispossesse king _Henrie_ from the crowne. ·eab015·
_Yorke_ I prethe _Dicke_ let me heare thy deuise.
_Rich._ Then thus my Lord. An oath is of no moment [eab017] Being not sworne before a lawfull magistrate. _Henry_ is none but doth vsurpe your right. And yet your grace stands bound to him by oath. ·eab020· Then noble father resolue your selfe, And once more claime the crowne.
_Yorke_ _I_, saist thou so boie? why then it shall be so. _I_ am resolude to win the crowne, or die. Edward, rhou shalt to _Edmund Brooke_ Lord _Cobham_, [eab025] With whom the _Kentishmen_ will willinglie rise: Thou cosen _Montague_, shalt to _Norffolke_ straight, And bid the Duke to muster vppe his souldiers, And come to me to _Wakefield_ presentlie. And _Richard_ thou to _London_ strait shalt post, ·eab030· And bid _Richard Neuill_ Earle of _Warwike_ To leaue the cittie, and with his men of warre, To meet me at Saint _Albons_ ten daies hence. [eab033] My selfe heere in _Sandall_ castell will prouide Both men and monie to furder our attempts. ·eab035· Now, what newes? Enter a Messenger.
_Mes._ My Lord, the _Queene_ with thirtie thousand men, Accompanied with the Earles of _Cumberland_, _Nurthumberland_ and _Westmerland_, and others of the [eab039] House of _Lancaster_, are marching towards _Wakefield_, ·eab040· To besiedge you in your castell heere.
Enter sir _Iohn_ and sir _Hugh Mortimer_.
_Yorke_ A Gods name, let them come. Cosen _Montague_ [eab042] post you hence: and boies staie you with me.
Sir _Iohn_ and sir _Hugh Mortemers_ mine vncles, [eab044] Your welcome to _Sandall_ in an happie houre, [eab045] The armie of the Queene meanes to besiedge vs.
Sir _Iohn_. Shee shall not neede my Lorde, weele meete her in the field. [eab047]
_York_ What with fiue thousand souldiers vncle? [eab048]
_Rich._ I father, with fiue hundred for a need, A womans generall, what should you feare? [eab050]
_York._ Indeed, manie braue battels haue I woon [eab051] In _Normandie_, when as the enimie Hath bin ten to one, and why should I now doubt Of the like successe? I am resolu’d. Come lets goe.
_Edw._ Lets martch awaie, I heare their drums. _Exit._ [eab055]
## SCENE III.
Alarmes, and then enter the yong Earle of _Rutland_ and his Tutor.
_Tutor._ Oh flie my Lord, lets leaue the Castell, And flie to _Wakefield_ straight.
Enter _Clifford_.
_Rut._ O Tutor, looke where bloudie _Clifford_ comes.
_Clif._ Chaplin awaie, thy Priesthood saues thy life, [eac004] As for the brat of that accursed Duke ·eac005· Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
_Tutor_ Oh _Clifford_ spare this tender Lord, least Heauen reuenge it on thy head: Oh saue his life. [eac008]
_Clif._ Soldiers awaie and drag him hence perforce: Awaie with the villaine. _Exit_ the Chaplein. [eac010] How now, what dead alreadie? or is it feare that Makes him close his eies? Ile open them.
_Rut._ So lookes the pent vp Lion on the lambe, And so he walkes insulting ouer his praie, [eac014] And so he turnes againe to rend his limmes in sunder, ·eac015· Oh _Clifford_, kill me with thy sword, and Not with such a cruell threatning looke, I am too meane a subiect for thy wrath, [eac018] Be thou reuengde on men, and let me liue.
_Clif._ In vaine thou speakest poore boy: my fathers ·eac020· Bloud hath stopt the passage where thy words shoulde enter. [eac021]
_Rut._ Then let my fathers blood ope it againe? he is a [eac022] Man, and _Clifford_ cope with him.
_Clif._ Had I thy brethren here, their liues and thine Were not reuenge sufficient for me. ·eac025· Or should _I_ dig vp thy forefathers graues, And hang their rotten coffins vp in chaines, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my hart. The sight of anie of the house of _Yorke_, Is as a furie to torment my soule. ·eac030· Therefore till _I_ root out that curssed line And leaue not one on earth, _I_le liue in hell therefore.
_Rut._ Oh let me praie, before _I_ take my death. To thee _I_ praie: Sweet _Clifford_ pittie me.
_Clif._ _I_, such pitie as my rapiers point affords. ·eac035·
_Rut._ _I_ neuer did thee hurt, wherefore wilt thou kill mee?
_Clif._ Thy father hath.
_Rut._ But twas ere _I_ was borne: [eac038] Thou hast one sonne, for his sake pittie me, Least in reuenge thereof, sith God is iust, ·eac040· He be as miserablie slaine as _I_. Oh, let me liue in prison all my daies, And when _I_ giue occasion for offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
_Clif._ No cause? Thy Father slew my father, therefore Die. ·eac045· _Plantagenet_ I come _Plantagenet_, And this thy sonnes bloud cleauing to my blade, Shall rust vpon my weapon, till thy bloud Congeald with his, doe make me wipe off both. _Exit._
Alarmes, Enter the Duke of _Yorke solus_.
_Yorke_ Ah _Yorke_, post to thy castell, saue thy life, ·eac050· The goale is lost thou house of _Lancaster_, [eac051] Thrise happie chance is it for thee and thine, That heauen abridgde my daies and cals me hence, But God knowes what chance hath betide my sonnes: But this I know they haue demeand themselues, ·eac055· Like men borne to renowne by life or death: _T_hree times this daie came _Richard_ to my sight, And cried courage Father: Victorie or death. And twise so oft came _Edward_ to my view, With purple Faulchen painted to the hilts, ·eac060· In bloud of those whom he had slaughtered. Oh harke, _I_ heare the drums? No waie to flie: [eac062] No waie to saue my life? And heere _I_ staie: And heere my life must end.
Enter the _Queene_, _Clifford_, _Northumberland_, and souldiers.
Come bloudie _Clifford_, rough _Northumberland_, I dare your quenchlesse furie to more bloud: This is the But, and this abides your shot.
_Northum._ Yeeld to our mercies proud _Plantagenet_.
_Clif._ I, to such mercie as his ruthfull arme With downe right paiment lent vnto my father, ·eac070· Now _Phaeton_ hath tumbled from his carre, And made an euening at the noone tide pricke.
_York._ My ashes like the _Phœnix_ maie bring forth A bird that will reuenge it on you all, And in that hope I cast mine eies to heauen, ·eac075· Skorning what ere you can afflict me with: Why staie you Lords? what, multitudes and feare?
_Clif._ So cowards fight when they can flie no longer: So Doues doe pecke the Rauens piersing tallents: So desperate theeues all hopelesse of their liues, ·eac080· Breath out inuectives gainst the officers. [eac081]
_York._ Oh _Clifford_, yet bethinke thee once againe, And in thy minde orerun my former time: And bite thy toung that slaunderst him with cowardise, Whose verie looke hath made thee quake ere this. ·eac085·
_Clif._ I will not bandie with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blowes twise two for one.
_Queene._ Hold valiant _Clifford_ for a thousand causes, I would prolong the traitors life a while. Wrath makes him death, speake thou _Northumberland_. [eac090]
_Nor._ Hold _Clifford_, doe not honour him so much, To pricke thy finger though to wound his hart: What valure were it when a curre doth grin, [eac093] For one to thrust his hand betweene his teeth, When he might spurne him with his foote awaie? ·eac095· Tis warres prise to take all aduantages, And ten to one, is no impeach in warres.
Fight and take him.
_Clif._ I, I, so striues the Woodcocke with the gin.
_North._ So doth the cunnie struggle with the net.
_York._ So triumphs theeues vpon their conquered [eac100] Bootie: So true men yeeld by robbers ouermatcht. [eac101]
_North._ What will your grace haue done with him?
_Queen._ Braue warriors, _Clifford_ & _Northumberland_ Come make him stand vpon this molehill here, That aimde at mountaines with outstretched arme, ·eac105· And parted but the shaddow with his hand. Was it you that reuelde in our Parlement, And made a prechment of your high descent? Where are your messe of sonnes to backe you now? The wanton _Edward_, and the lustie _George_? ·eac110· Or where is that valiant _Crookbackt_ prodegie? [eac111] Dickey your boy, that with his grumbling voice, Was wont to cheare his Dad in mutinies? Or amongst the rest, where is your darling _Rutland_? [eac114] Looke _Yorke_? I dipt this napkin in the bloud, ·eac115· That valiant _Clifford_ with his rapiers point, [eac116] Made issue from the bosome of thy boy. And if thine eies can water for his death, I giue thee this to drie thy cheeks withall. Alas poore _Yorke_? But that I hate thee much, ·eac120· _I_ should lament thy miserable state? [eac121] I prethee greeue to make me merrie _Yorke_? [eac122] Stamp, raue and fret, that I maie sing and dance. What? hath thy fierie hart so parcht thine entrailes, [eac124] That not a teare can fall for _Rutlands_ death? ·eac125· Thou wouldst be feede I see to make me sport. _Yorke_ cannot speake, vnlesse he weare a crowne. A crowne for _Yorke_? and Lords bow low to him. [eac128] So: hold you his hands, whilst _I_ doe set it on. [eac129] I, now lookes he like a king? [eac130] This is he that tooke king _Henries_ chaire, And this is he was his adopted aire. [eac132] 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, ·eac135· 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, tis a fault too too vnpardonable. ·eac140· Off with the crowne, and with the crowne his head, And whilst we breath, take time to doe him dead.
_Clif._ Thats my office for my fathers death. [eac143]
_Queen._ Yet stay: & lets here the Orisons he makes.
_York._ She wolfe of _France_, but worse than Wolues of _France_: ·eac145· Whose tongue more poison’d than the Adders tooth: [eac146] 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, [eac150] Made impudent by use of euill deeds: _I_ would assaie, proud Queene, to make thee blush: To tell thee of whence thou art, from whom deriu’de, Twere shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shamelesse. [eac154] Thy father beares the type of king of _Naples_, [eac155] Of both the _Sissiles_ and _Ierusalem_, [eac156] 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 verifide: ·eac160· That beggers mounted, run their horse to death. Tis beautie, that oft makes women proud, But God he wots thy share thereof is small. Tis gouernment, that makes them most admirde, The contrarie doth make thee wondred at. ·eac165· Tis vertue that makes them seeme deuine, [eac166] 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. ·eac170· Oh Tygers hart wrapt in a womans hide? [eac171] How couldst thou draine the life bloud of the childe, To bid the father wipe his eies withall, And yet be seene to beare a womans face? Women are milde, pittifull, and flexible, ·eac175· Thou indurate, sterne, rough, remorcelesse. Bids thou me rage? why now thou hast thy will. Wouldst haue me weepe? why so thou hast thy wish, For raging windes blowes vp a storme of teares, [eac179] And when the rage alaies the raine begins. [eac180] These teares are my sweet _Rutlands_ obsequies, And euerie drop begs vengeance as it fals, On thee fell _Clifford_, and the false French woman. [eac183]
_North._ Beshrew me but his passions moue me so, As hardlie can I checke mine eies from teares. [eac185]
_York._ That face 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 Tygers of _Arcadia_. See ruthlesse _Queene_ a haplesse fathers teares. ·eac190· 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, [eac194] Vpon my soule the hearers will sheed teares, [eac195] I, euen my foes will sheed fast falling teares, [eac196] 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 two cruell hands. [eac200] Hard-harted _Clifford_, take me from the world, [eac201] 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. [eac205]
_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._ _T_hears for my oath, thears for my fathers death. [eac209]
_Queene._ And thears to right our gentle harted kind. [eac210]
_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._
## SCENE IV.
Enter _Edward_ and _Richard_, with drum and Souldiers.
_Edw._ After this dangerous fight and haplesse warre, How doth my noble brother _Richard_ fare?
_Rich._ I cannot ioy vntil I be resolu’de, Where our right valiant father is become. How often did I see him beare himselfe, ·ead005· As doth a lion midst a heard of neat, So fled his enemies our valiant father, [ead007] Me thinkes tis pride enough to be his sonne.
Three sunnes appeare in the aire.
_Edw._ Loe how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun, ·ead010· Dasell mine eies or doe I see three suns? [ead011]
_Rich._ Three glorious suns, not seperated by a racking [ead012] Cloud, but seuered in a pale cleere shining skie. See, see, they ioine, embrace, and seeme to kisse, As if they vowde some league inuiolate: ·ead015· Now 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, ·ead020· May ioine in one and ouerpeere the world, As this the earth, and therefore hence forward, Ile beare vpon my Target, three faire shining suns. But what art thou? that lookest so heauilie? [ead024]
_Mes._ Oh one that was a wofull looker on, ·ead025· 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 flight, And then pursu’de by _Clifford_ and the _Queene_, ·ead030· And manie souldiers moe, who all at once Let driue at him and forst the Duke to yeeld: [ead032] And then they set him on a molehill there, And crownd the gratious Duke in high despite, Who then with teares began to waile his fall. ·ead035· The ruthlesse _Queene_ perceiuing he did weepe, Gaue him a handkercher to wipe his eies, Dipt in the bloud of sweet young _Rutland_ By rough _Clifford_ slaine: who weeping tooke it vp. _T_hen through his brest they thrust their bloudy swordes, ·ead040· Who like a lambe 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, ·ead045· Now thou art gone there is no hope for vs: Now my soules pallace is become a prison. Oh would she breake from compasse of my breast, For neuer shall I haue more ioie.
_Rich._ I cannot weepe, for all my breasts moisture ·ead050· Scarse serues to quench my furnace burning hart: [ead051] 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, [ead054] Or die my selfe in seeking of reuenge. ·ead055·
_Edw._ His name that valiant Duke hath left 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. [ead059] For chaire, and dukedome, Throne and kingdome saie: ·ead060· For either that is thine, or else thou wert not his? [ead061]
Enter the Earle of _Warwike_, _Montague_, with drum, ancient, and souldiers.
_War._ How now faire Lords: what fare? what newes abroad?
_Rich._ Ah _Warwike_? should we report the balefull [ead063] Newes, and at each words deliuerance stab poinyardes In our flesh till all were told, the words would adde ·ead065· More anguish then the wounds. Ah valiant Lord the Duke of _Yorke_ is slaine.
_Edw._ Ah _Warwike Warwike_, that _Plantagenet_, Which held thee deere: I, euen as his soules redemption, [ead069] Is by the sterne _L. Clifford_, done to death. [ead070]
_War._ Ten daies a go I drownd those newes in teares. [ead071] And now to adde more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things since then befalne. [ead073] After the bloudie fraie at _Wakefield_ fought, Where your braue father breath’d his latest gaspe, ·ead075· Tidings as swiflie as the post could runne, [ead076] Was brought me of your losse, and his departure. I then in London keeper of the _King_, Mustred my souldiers, gathered flockes of friends, And verie well appointed as I thought, ·ead080· Marcht to saint _Albons_ to entercept the _Queene_, [ead081] Bearing the _King_ in my behalfe along, For by my scoutes I was aduertised, That she was comming, with a full intent _T_o dash your late decree in parliament, Touching king _Henries_ heires and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint _Albons_ met, Our battles ioinde, and both sides fiercelie fought: But whether twas the coldnesse of the king, [ead089] He lookt full gentlie on his warlike _Queene_, [ead090] That robde my souldiers of their heated spleene. Or whether twas report of his successe, Or more then common feare of _Cliffords_ rigor, Who thunders to his captaines bloud and death, I cannot tell. But to conclude with truth, ·ead095· Their weapons like to lightnings went and came. Our souldiers like the night Owles lasie flight, [ead097] Or like an idle thresher with a flaile, Fel gentlie downe as if they smote their friends. I cheerd them vp with iustice of the cause, ·ead100· With promise of hie paie and great rewardes, But all in vaine, they had no harts to fight, Nor we in them no hope to win the daie, So that We fled. The king vnto the _Queene_, Lord _George_ your brother, _Norffolke_, and my selfe, ·ead105· In hast, post hast, are come to ioine with you, For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight againe. [ead108]
_Edw._ Thankes gentle _Warwike_. How farre hence is the Duke with his power? ·ead110· And when came _George_ from _Burgundie_ to _England_?
_War._ Some fiue miles off the Duke is with his power, But as for your brother he was latelie sent From your kind Aunt, Duches of _Burgundie_, With aide of souldiers gainst this needfull warre. [ead115]
_Rich._ Twas ods belike, when valiant _Warwike_ fled. Oft haue I heard thy praises in pursute, But nere till now thy scandall of retire.