King.
Uncles of Glo'ster and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would prevail, if prayers might aught prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.

Oh, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
“Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful if thou art not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?”

“Sal.
My lord Protector, yield! yield, Winchester!”

“Glouc.
Compassion on the King commands me stoop.”

“Salis.
Behold, my lord of Winchester—the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury.
Why look you still so stern and opposite?”

“Glouc.
Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.”

“King.
Fie, uncle Beaufort, I have heard you preach
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will you not maintain the thing you teach?”

“Sal.
For shame, my lord of Winchester—relent.”

“Beauf.
Well, duke of Glocester, I will yield to thee:
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.”

“Glouc. (aside)
Aye—but I fear me with a hollow heart.”

“Beauf. (aside.)
So help me heaven, as I intend it not.”

“King.
Oh loving uncle! gentle duke of Glo'ster,
How happy hath this gracious union made me* ^note!” Enter Warwick and Plantagenet.

War. (Delivering a scroll of parchment.)
Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
Which, in right of a true Plantagenet,
I do exhihit to your majesty.

Glouc.
Well urged, my lord of Warwick—and, sweet prince,
You have great reason to do Richard right.

King.
So peace rest with us, as I think to do it.
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
That Richard be restored to his blood; [Plantagenet kneels.
And, if he will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give
That did belong unto the house of York.

Plant.
Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And faithful service to the point of death.

King.
Stoop then, and set thy knee against my foot;
And in reguerdon of that duty done,
I gird thee with thy valiant grandsire's sword, [Girds the sword.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And stand created princely Duke of York.

Plant.
E'en so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And, as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty.

All.
Welcome, brave prince, puissant Duke o York!

Som. (aside)
Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York! “Enter Vernon and Young Clifford.

“Vern.
Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!

“Cliff.
And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!

“King.
Say, gentlemen, what makes you both exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? And with whom?

“Vern.
With him, my lord, for he hath done me wrong.”

“Cliff.
And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

“King.
What is the wrong of which you both complain?”

“Cliff.
This caitiff here, with sharp and carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
About a certain question in the law
Betwixt my lord Plantagenet and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms,
For which I crave the benefit of arms.”

“Vern.
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him.
'Twas he first took exceptions at this badge,
Asserting that the paleness of this flower
Betray'd the faintness of my master's heart.”

“Plant.
Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?”

“Som.
Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.”

“King.
Kind heaven! what madness rules in brainsick men!
Good cousins, both of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, and be again at peace.”

“Plant.
Let this dissention first be tried by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.”

“Som.
The quarrel touches none but us alone.
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.”

“Plant.
Here is my pledge—Accept it, Somerset.”

“Vern.
Nay, let it rest where it began at first.”

“Cliff.
Confirm it so, mine honourable lord!”

“Glouc.
Confirm it so?—confounded be your strife
And perish ye with your audacious prate.
Presumptuous vassals! are ye not asham'd,
With these immodest clamorous outrages
To trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords, methinks ye do not well—
Let me persuade you, take a better course.”

“King.
Come hither, you that would be combatants.
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.”
And think not, York, because I wear this rose,
I more incline to Somerset than thee.
Both are my kinsmen, and I love you both.
But now to wrangle! Now to be at strife!
Dash not your sovereign's cup with poison, lords.
E'en at the moment when it foams with joy.
I go to meet the peerless Margaret.
Say, would ye have me thus salute my bride,
With mailed war, instead of nuptial pomp?
Oh think, at least what infamy would spring,
If for a toy, a thing of no regard,
We lost ourselves, and lost the realm of France! [Exeunt King and others. Manent York (Plantagenet) and Warwick.

War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Most prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York.
And so he did: but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War.
Tush, that was but his fancy—blame him not.
I dare be sworn, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

York.
An' if I wis, he did—but let that rest.
Men must have these lures when they hawk for princes.

And wind about them like a subtle river,
That, seeming only to run on his course,
Doth search yet as he runs, and still finds out
The easier parts of entry on the shore,
Gliding so slily by, as scarce it touch'd,
Yet still eats something in it.—
Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea
Loves to have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
Even till his sail yards tremble, the masts crack,
And his rapt ship run on her side so low
That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air.
There is no danger to a man that knows
What life and death is: there's not any law
Exceeds his knowledge; neither is it lawful
That he should stoop to any other law.
He goes before them and commands them all,
That to himself is a law rational.* ^note
—Hark! heard you not that shout? It doth proclaim
The coming of that peerless bride of Anjou.
Come, Warwick, to the bridal—haste we to greet
Our most victorious Lord Ambassador,
Who brings this princely treasure home with him.
True, our most pious king was first betroth'd
Unto another—old Armagnac's daughter,
Our chiefest hope in France—But what of that?
The best earl's daughter is unequal odds,
Matched with the heiress of a throneless king.
And, for a dower, let's not disgrace our prince
To think that he should be so base and poor,
As chuse for wealth and not for perfect love.
Not whom we will—but whom his grace affects
Must be companion of his nuptial bed.
—But come, my lord, we're too long out of th' sun. [Exeunt.

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