Cli.
Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, [Sinks.
Which, whilst it lasted, gave king Henry light.
Ah, Lancaster, I fear thine overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my soul:
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York.
The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's enemy?
O Phœbus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,

And as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our deaths,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
† ^noteAnd what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
And, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:—
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [Faints. Drums. Enter Edward; George and Richard his Brothers; Warwick, Mountague, and Forces.

Edw.
Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,
And smooths the frowns of war with peaceful looks.—
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen;
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

War.
No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans.

Edw.
Who's soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

Ric.
A deadly groan, like life in death departing.

Edw.
See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Ric.
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lop'd the branch

In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdring knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

War.
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there:
Instead whereof, let his supply the room;
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw.
Bring forth that fatal scritch-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the body forward.

War.
I think, his understanding is bereft:—
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?—
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Ric.
O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
As in the time of death he gave our father.

Geo.
If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.

Ric.
Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.

Edw.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

Geo.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults‡ ^note.

Ric.
Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

Edw.
Thou pity'dst Rutland, I will pity thee.

Geo.
Where's captain Margaret to fence you now?

War.
They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.

Ric.
What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard,
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath:—
I know by that, he's dead; and by my soul,
Would this right hand buy but an hour's life,
That I in all despight might rail at him,
I'd chop it off; and with the issuing blood

Stifle the villain, whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

War.
Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.—
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
From thence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
To ask the lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw.
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be:
For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.—
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster;—
And George, of Clarence;—Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Ric.
Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster;
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War.
Tut, that's a foolish observation‡ ^note;
Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt.

Previous section