Albans.
Enter Warwick.
War.
Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls;
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
(Now when the angry trumpet sounds alarum,
And dying mens cries do fill the empty air,)
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me;
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
Enter York.
War.
How now, my noble lord? what all a-foot?
York.
The deadly-handed Clifford slew my Steed:
But match to match I have encountred him,
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
Ev'n of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.
Enter Clifford.
War.
Of one or both of us the time is come.
York.
Hold, Warwick: seek thee out some other chace,
For I my self must hunt this deer to death.
War.
Then nobly, York; 'tis for a Crown thou fight'st:
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.
[Exit War.
Clif.
What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou
pause?
York.
With thy brave Bearing should I be in love,
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
-- 295 --
Clif.
Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
But that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in treason.
York.
So let it help me now against thy sword,
As I in Justice and true Right express it.
Clif.
My soul and body on the action both!—
York.
A dreadful lay, address thee instantly.
[Fight.
Clif.
La fin couronne les œuvres.
[Dies.
York.
Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still;
Peace with his soul, heav'n, if it be thy will!
[Exit.
Enter young Clifford.
Y. Clif.
Shame and confusion! all is on the rout:
Fear frames disorder; and disorder wounds,
Where it should guard. O war! thou son of hell,
Whom angry heav'ns do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance. Let no soldier flie.
He, that is truly dedicate to war,
Hath no self-love; for he, that loves himself,
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.—O let the vile world end,(22) note
[Seeing his dead Father.
And the premised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heav'n together!
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and petty sounds
To cease! Wast thou ordained, O dear father,
To lose thy youth in peace, and to atchieve
The silver livery of advised age;
And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine,
-- 296 --
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares:
No more will I their babes: Tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
And Beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity.
Meet I an Infant of the House of York,
Into as many gobbits will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did.
In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's House:
As did Æneas old Anchises bear,
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
But then Æneas bare a living load,
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
[Exit, bearing off his Father.
Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, to fight.
R. Plan.
So, lye thou there:
[Somerset is kill'd.
For underneath an ale-house paltry Sign,(23) note
The Castle in St. Albans, Somerset
Hath made the Wizard famous in his death;
Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
Priests pray for enemies, but Princes kill.
[Exit Richard Plantagenet.
Fight. Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others.
Q. Mar.
Away, my lord, you are slow; for shame, away.
-- 297 --
K. Henry.
Can we out-run the heav'ns! good Marg'ret, stay.
Q. Mar.
What are you made of? you'll not fight, nor fly:
Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,
To give the enemy way, and to secure us
By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape,
(As well we may, if not through your neglect,)
We shall to London get, where you are lov'd;
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
May readily be stopt.
Enter Clifford.
Clif.
But that my heart's on future mischief set,
I would speak blasphemy, ere bid you fly;
But fly you must: incurable discomfit
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
Away, for your relief; and we will live
To see their day, and them our fortune give.
Away, my lord, away!
[Exeunt.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard Plantagenet,
Warwick, and Soldiers, with Drum and Colours.
York.
Of Salisbury, who can report of him?
That winter lion, who in rage forgets
Aged contusions and all brush of time;
And, like a Gallant in the brow of youth,
Repairs him with occasion. This happy day
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
If Salisbury be lost.
R. Plan.
My noble father,
Three times to day I holp him to his horse,
Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
Persuaded him from any further act:
But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
And, like rich Hangings in an homely house,
-- 298 --
So was his Will in his old feeble body.
But noble as he is, look, where he comes.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to day;
By th' Mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard.
God knows, how long it is I have to live;
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to day
You have defended me from imminent death.
Well, lords, we have not got That which we have;
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
Being opposites of such repairing nature.
York.
I know, our safety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the King is fled to London,
To call a present Court of Parliament.
Let us pursue him, ere the Writs go forth.
What says lord Warwick, shall we after them?
War.
After them! nay, before them, if we can.
Now by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day.
St. Alban's battel, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.
Sound drum and trumpets, and to London all,
And more such days as these to us befall.
[Exeunt.
