SCENE III.
A Field of Battle7 note
between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.
&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Forspent with toil8 note, as runners with a race,
-- 425 --
I lay me down a little while to breathe:
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
&mlquo;And, spite of spite9 note
, needs must I rest awhile.
Enter Edward, running.
Edw.
Smile, gentle heaven1 note
! or strike, ungentle death!
&mlquo;For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War.
How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of good?
Enter George.
&mast;Geo.
&mast;Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair2 note
;
&mlquo;Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:
&mlquo;What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?
&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
&mlquo;And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
-- 426 --
Enter Richard.
&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
&mlquo;Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk3 note
,
-- 427 --
&mlquo;Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance:
&mlquo;And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,—
&mlquo;Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,—
&mlquo;Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
&mlquo;So underneath the belly of their steeds,
&mlquo;That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
&mlquo;The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly4 note
.
&mast;Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
&mast;Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
&mast;And look upon5 note
, as if the tragedy
&mast;Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
-- 428 --
&mlquo;Here on my knee I vow to God above,
&mlquo;I'll never pause again, never stand still,
&mlquo;Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
&mlquo;Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw.
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
&mlquo;And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine6 note
.—
&mast;And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
&mast;I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
&mlquo;Beseeching thee7 note
,—if with thy will it stands,
&mlquo;That to my foes this body must be prey,—
&mlquo;Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
&mlquo;And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!—
&mlquo;Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Brother, give me thy hand;—and, gentle Warwick,
-- 429 --
&mlquo;Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:—
&mlquo;I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
&mlquo;That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.
&mlquo;Geo.
&mlquo;Yet let us all together to our troops,
&mlquo;And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
&mlquo;And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
&mlquo;As victors wear at the Olympian games:
&mast;This may plant courage in their quailing8 note
breasts;
&mast;For yet is hope of life, and victory.—
&mast;Fore-slow no longer9 note
, make we hence amain1 note
.
[Exeunt.
-- 430 --
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].
