Queen.
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompast with your Crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

K. Henry.
Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their wrack;
To see this sight it irks my very soul:
With-hold Revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif.
My gracious Liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside:(9) ^note
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?
Not his, 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.
Ambitious York did level at thy Crown;

Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows.
He but a Duke, would have his son a King;
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou being a King, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him;
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And tho man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings,
Which sometimes they have us'd with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my Liege, make them your president,
Were it not pity, that this goodly Boy
Should lose his birth-right by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,
What my great Grandfather and Grandsire got,
My careless Father fondly gave away!
Ah, what a shame was this! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Henry.
Full well hath Clifford plaid the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force:
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,(10) ^note

Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And would, my father had left me no more!

For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure,
Ah, Cousin York; would, thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Queen.
My lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are nigh;
And this soft Courage makes your Followers faint:
You promis'd Knighthood to our forward son,
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.

K. Henry.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a Knight;
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in Right.

Prince.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as Apparent to the Crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Clif.
Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Royal Commanders, be in readiness;
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York:
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him King; and many fly to him.
Darraign your battel, for they are at hand.

Clif.
I would, your Highness would depart the field:
The Queen hath best success, when you are absent.

Queen.
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Henry.
Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

North.
Be it with resolution then to fight.

Prince.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, St. George! March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

Edw.
Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,
And set thy Diadem upon my head;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Queen.
Go rate thy minions, proud insulting Boy.
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy Soveraign and thy lawful King?

Edw.
I am his King, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted Heir by his consent;
Since when, his oath is broke; for as I hear,
You that are King, though he do wear the Crown,
Have caus'd him by new Act of Parliament
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif.
And reason too:
Who should succeed the father, but the son?

Rich.
Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak.

Clif.
Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
Or any he the proudest of thy Sort.

Rich.
'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

Clif.
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy'd.

Rich.
For God's sake, lords, give Signal to the fight.

War.
What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the Crown?

Queen.
Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare you speak?
When you and I met at St. Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.

War.
Then 'twas my Turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

Clif.
You said so much before, and yet you fled.

War.
'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

North.
No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay.

Rich.
Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.—
Break off the parle, for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

Clif.
I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child?

Rich.
Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland:
But, ere Sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.

K. Henry.
Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

Queen.
Defie them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Henry.
I pry'thee, give no limits to my tongue;
I am a King, and privileg'd to speak.

Clif.
My Liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Rich.
Then, Executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd
That Clifford's manhood lyes upon his tongue.

Edw.
Say, Henry, shall I have my Right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the Crown.

War.
If thou deny, their blood upon thy head!
For York in justice puts his armour on.

Prince.
If that be right, which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich.
Who ever got thee, there thy mother stands,
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Queen.
But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided;
As venomous toads, or lizards dreadful stings.

Rich.
Iron of Naples hid with English Gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a King,
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea)
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

Edw.
A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,
To make this shameless Callet know her self.
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this King by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop:
And had he match'd according to his State,
He might have kept that glory to this day.
But when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor Sire with his bridal day,
Even then that sun-shine brew'd a show'r for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd Sedition on his Crown at home:

For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our Title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle King,
Had slipt our Claim until another age.

Cla.
But when we saw, our sun-shine made thy spring,
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the ax to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit our selves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy Growing with our heated bloods.

Edw.
And in this resolution I defie thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'dst the gentle King to speak.
Sound trumpets, let our bloody Colours wave,
And either Victory, or else a Grave.

Queen.
Stay, Edward—

Edw.
No, wrangling Woman, we'll no longer stay:
These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. [Exeunt omnes.

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