SCENE III.
Plains near Sandal Castle.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his Tutor8 note.
&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands9 note
!
Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!
Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.
Clif.
Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father1 note slew my father,—he shall die.
Tut.
And I, my lord, will bear him company.
Clif.
Soldiers, away with him.
&mlquo;Tut.
&mlquo;Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child,
&mlquo;Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif.
How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear,
That makes him close his eyes2 note
?—I'll open them.
-- 389 --
&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;So looks the pent-up lion3 note o'er the wretch† note
&mast;That trembles under his devouring paws4 note:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
&mlquo;And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.—
&mlquo;Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;—
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif.
In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
Rut.
Then let my father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine,
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
-- 390 --
Is as a fury to torment my soul5 note
;
&mlquo;And till I root out their accursed line,
&mlquo;And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore—
[Lifting his Hand.
Rut.
O, let me pray before I take my death:—
To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!
Clif.
Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay me?
Clif.
Thy father hath.
Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born6 note
.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,—sith7 note
God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I,
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif.
No cause?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut.
Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ8 note!
[Dies.
-- 391 --
Clif.
Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
[Exit.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
