War.
Victorious Duke of York!
Before we see thee seated on the throne,
Which now the House of Lancaster usurps,
I vow, by heaven! these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king,
And here the regal seat. Possess it, York!

York.
Say ye, my Lords? Doth Warwick speak for all?

Sal.
We'll all support thee.

York.
Then be resolute,
And thus I take possession of my right. The doors of the Hall thrown open, and the Throne discovered within. York enters, and seats himself. Shouts and acclamations.

Then Enter King Henry, Clifford, and their followers.

K. Hen.
My Lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
Even in the chair of state. Belike he means,
Back'd by the power of Warwick, there to reign.
Clifford! Thou saidst, I live but for revenge.

Y. Cliff.
If for aught else, heaven be revenged on me!

King.
Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
And kneel for grace and merey at my feet.
I am thy Sovereign.

York. (Descending, and advancing to the front.)
Henry, I am thine!

King.
What title shew'st thou, traitor, to the crown?
Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly throne,
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
No;—first shall war unpeople this my realm;
Aye, and their colours, that so oft they've borne
In fields of fame, shall be my winding sheet.

York.
Henry of Lancaster! Resign thy crown.

War.
Do right unto the princely heir of Edward,
Or I will fill this house with armed men;
And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits
Write up his title with usurping blood. [Stamps with his foot, and soldiers appear.]

Y. Cliff.
May that ground gape, and swallow me allve,
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father.

Sal. and War.
Long live King Henry! Live, Plantagenet!

York.
Henry of Lancaster! thou seest my powers.
Thy royal throne I've won, and may maintain.
But, heaven's my judge! 'Tis not the diadem,
Though chased with all the honours of this world—
'Tis not the canker of ambitions thoughts,
That cats my heart-strings. For myself I care not,
So I may die a true Plantagenet;
But that my grandsire's honour lives in me,
And I am guardian to my children's right.
Then yield the erown to me and to mine heirs,
And thou shall reign in quiet while thou liv'st.

King.
I am content.—Richard, Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease!

Y. Cliff.
Base, fearful, and despairing Henry?
What wrong is this; unto the prince your son?
Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate King!
Be thou a prey unto the House of York,
Aud die in bonds for this unworthy deed.
In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome,
Or live in peace, abandoned and despised. [Exit.

King.
Oh, Clifford! Clifford!

War.
Wherefore sighs my liege?

King.
Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son
But, be that as it may,—York, I have sworn,
And leave the rest to heaven. I here entail
The erown on thee, and on thy heirs, for ever:
But on condition that thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, while I live,
To honour me as thy true king and liege.

York.
This oath I freely take, and will perform.

King.
Now York and Lancaster are reconciled,
Accurst be he, who tries to make them foes!
Farewell, my Liege! As a pledge of peace,
I here disband my powers, and shall, forthwith,

Depart unto my Castle in the north.

King.
And I, with shame and sorrow, to the Court. [Exit with his party.

York.
My Lord of Warwick, do thou guard the King,
Whilst I towards Sandal.—I do fear, the Queen,
And chiefly Clifford, will not let us rest,
But will be levying forces in the north,
To vivify this ill-extinguished feud;
Which, if not strangled in its second birth,
May overmatch us still. Be, therefore, wise
And circumspect. On thee our main hopes rest. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Apartment in the Palace. Enter King Henry.—The Queen following him.

Queen.
Nay, go not from me—I will follow thee.

King.
Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay.

Queen.
Who can be patient in such extremes?
Ah, wretched man! that I had never known thee,
Or borne a son to thee! Unnatural father!
Hath he deserved to lose his birth-right thus?
Hadst thou but lov'd him half as well as I,
Or felt that pain which I did feel for him,
Or nourish'd him, as I did, with my blood,
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-stream there,
Rather than made that savage Duke thine heir,
And disinherited thine only Son.

King.
Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet Queen!
The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.

Queen.
Enforced thee? Art thou King, and wilt be forced?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy Son, and me.
What hast thou done, but built thy sepulchre,
To creep into it far before your time?
Yet thinkest thou to be safe?—such safety finds
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
Had I been there, who am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have yielded to that act.
But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour—
And, since thou dost, I here divorce myself
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until my Son's inheritance return.
The northern Lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, soon as they see them spread,
(As spread they shall be,) to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the House of York.

King.
Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Queen.
Thou'st spoke too much already. Henceforth be silent.
When I return with Victory from the field,
I'll see your Grace again—Till then, farewell! [Exit.

King.
Poor Queen! Her love to me and to her Son
Hath made her break out into terms of rage.
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke,
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will truss my Crown, and like a famish'd Eagle,
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my Son. Exit.

SCENE III. Sandal Castle.—A Guard on the walls. Enter York.
It is enough—I must be king, or die.
They drive me to the stake, despite of oaths—
They think they have me in the toils—it may be.
But with my fall falls not the House of York.
Edward and Richard, true Plantagents,
May live to grasp the golden spoil I lose,
And valiant Warwick will support them still.
Yet all's not lost; and, a fair cause of arms,
Why that's an army, all invincible.
He that hath that, hath a batallion royal.
Armour of proof, huge troops of barbed steeds,
Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebusses.
Oh! a fair cause stands firm and will abide;
Legions of angels fight up on her side* ^note. Enter a messenger.
Why, what's the news? Why com'st thou in such haste? Mess.
The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,
Approaches to besiege you in your castle.
She is hard by, with twenty thousand men;
And thereby fortify your hold, my Lord.

York.
Aye, with my sword. What think'st thou that we fear?
Only let Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,

With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. Enter Sasisbury and Vernon.
  My good Lord Vernon! Reverend Salisbury!
Ye're come to Sandal in a happy hour.
The army of the Queen means to besiege us;
But there's no need—We'll meet her in the field.

Sal.
What, with five thousand men?

York.
Aye—with five hundred, Father, for a need,
A woman's general—What should we fear? [Drums, &c. as of an army marching, heard at a distance.

Fern.
I hear their drums—let's set our men in order,
And issue forth to give them battle strait.

York.
Five men to twenty!—though the odds be great,
I doubt not we shall reap the victory.
Many a battle I have won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one.
Why should we now not have the same success?
Come, my good lords—my sons Edward and Richard
Attend my summons in the Castle Hall.
Let's thither too, to meet them, and appoint
Their several posts in this their maiden fight.
Should it go ill with me, oh! bid them save
Their lives and fortunes for a happier day!
Bring in my dear boy Rutlant. [Enter Messenger.]
My darling! let me kiss thee ere I go—
I know not if I ere shall see thee more.

If I should fall, I leave thee to thy brothers,
All valiant men; and I will charge them all,
On my last blessing, to take care of thee,
As of their souls. Rutl.
Why do you talk thus, father?
If you must die, I hope I shall die with you—
I'd rather die with you than live a king. York.
Sweet boy!—Farewell, my soul!—Here, take the child,
And guard him safely in the Donjon Tower.
should things go ill, bear him away betimes,
And give his brothers notice of your flight.
Now, lords, I'll follow you. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Field of Battle. [Alarm. Excursions. The White Rose banner is driven over the stage; and several soldiers of York's party are seen flying tumultuously across, pursued by others of the Red Rose faction. Enter Clifford.

Cliff.
Pursue! pursue! pursue! and give no quarter!
I charge you spare not. [Exit. [The noise of the battle grows more distant. Several Peasants and Women belonging to the castls, are seen flying in different directions.]

Enter Rutland and Attendant.

Rut.
Oh! whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Look, Tutor! See where bloody Clifford comes!
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch,
That trembles under his devouring paws—
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.
Oh! bear me hence! his looks so frighten me. [Exeunt. Re-enter Clifford.

Cliff.
Rutland! In vain thou fliest—my father's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy tears should enter.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for my grief.
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,
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And 'till I root out thine accursed race,
And leave not one alive, I live in Hell. [Exit. Alarm. Then re-enter Clifford.

Cliff.
Thy father slew my father—therefore die!—
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.

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field. [Sound of battle more distant.] Enter York, wounded and bleeding.

York.
The army of the Queen hath got the field,
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
—My sons,—God knows what hath bechanced them!
But this I know—they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cried, “Courage, Father! Fight it out.”
And full as oft came Edward to my side
With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him.
And, when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, “Charge! and give no foot of ground.
“A glorious crown! or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!”
With this, we charged again; but out, alas!
Again we turn'd—as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves. (Alarum.)
Ah! hark!—the fatal followers do pursue,
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury.
The sands are number'd that make up my life,—
Here must I stay—and here my life must end. (Sits on a bank.)

Enter Clifford, Buckingham, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford! dangerous Buckingham!
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage.
See here your butt, who will abide your shot.

Buck.
Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet!

Cliff.
Aye—to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment shew'd unto my father.
Now Phaëton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide point.

York.
Mine ashes, as the Phœnix, shall bring forth
A bird that will revenge me on you all.
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to Heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. (Rises and assumes an attitude of defence.)
Why come ye not? What!—Multitudes—and fear?

Cliff.
So cowards fight, when they can fly no farther,
So doves do peck the Falcon's piercing talons.

York.
Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought out-run my former time;
Then, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice,
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere now. Enter Queen Margaret and Soldiers.

Queen.
Hold, Clifford! Do not honour him so far,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away. [Soldiers advance, surround York, and chain him.]

Cliff.
Aye, aye—So strives the Woodcock with the gin.

Buck.
So doth the Cony struggle in the net.

York.
So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty!
So true men yield, by robbers over-match'd!

Queen.
Brave Warriors, Buckingham and Cumberland!
Come, make him stand upon this mole-hill here,
That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
—What! Was it you that would be England's king?
Where are your troops of sons to back you now?—
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George;
And he, that valiant, crook-back'd prodigy,
Richard, your boy, that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer you in your mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? (Presenting to him a bloody handkerchief.)
Look, York! I stain'd this kerchief with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of your child.
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this, to dry thy cheeks withal.
What! hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad—
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.—
  York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
—A crown for York!—And, Lords, bow low to him.

York.
She-wolf of France!—but worse than wolves of France!
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth—
Oh tyger's heart, wrapt in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life blood of the child,
To bid the Father wipe his eyes withal,

And yet be seen to wear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, piteous, flexible—
Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, relentless.
Bid'st thou me rage?—Why, now thou hast thy will.
Would'st have me weep?—Why, now thou hast thy wish.
“For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.”
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death.
That face of his
The hungry Cannibals would not have touch'd,
Would not have stain'd the roses just i' th' bud.
You're more inhuman, more inexorable,
—Oh ten times more!—than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless Queen, a wretched Father's tears!
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the kerchief, and go boast of this!
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears—
—Yea—even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,—
And say, “Alas! it was a piteous deed.”
—Oh! In thy need such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
—Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world.
My soul to Heaven! My blood upon thy head!

“Buck.
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I could not, for my life, but weep with him.”

“Cliff.
Here's for my oath—here's for my father's death.” [Stabs him. York dies.]

“Queen.
Off with his head! And set it on York gates.
So York may overlook the town of York.

Flourish. Enter King Henry, with all the Red rose party.
Welcome, my Lord, to this brave battle field!
Yonder's the corse of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown. (King Henry turns away his eyes.)
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

King.
Aye—as the rocks cheer him that fears a wreck.
To see this sight it irks my very soul.
Withold revenge, sweet Heaven! 'Tis not my fault;
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.”

“Cliff.
My gracious Lord, this too much lenity,
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do Lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that, the forest Bear doth lick?
This that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
And Doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.

“King.
Yet, tell me, Clifford! Didst thou never hear
That Heaven hath vengeance yet in store for blood?
Ah, Cousin York! Would thy best friends did know
How it doth grieve my soul to see thee thus!

“Queen.
My Lord, cheer up your spirits—our foes are nigh;
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.” Enter Buckingham.

“Buck.
Royal commanders, be in readiness!
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, with the valiant Sons of York.”

“King.
Why so it is—Thus vengeance treads on Crime.
Oh pardon me, just Heaven, and shield my Son!”

“Queen.
Go, my good Lord, and leave us to our fortune.”

“King.
Why, that's my fortune too; and I will stay.

“Cliff.
Be it with steady purpose, then, to fight.
My royal Master, cheer these noble Lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence!
Unsheath your sword, good Henry—Cry, Saint George!” [Flourish of Drums and Trumpets. The Curtain falls.] THE END.

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