Q. Mar.
For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,
But boldly stand and front him to his face.

York.
How now? is Somerset at liberty?
Then, York, unloose thy long imprison'd thoughts,
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?
False King! why hast thou broken faith with me,
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
King did I call thee? no, thou art no King,
Nor fit to govern and rule multitudes,
Which durst not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
That head of thine doth not become a Crown,
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
And not to grace an awful princely scepter.
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
Is able with the change to kill and cure.
Here is a hand to hold a scepter up,
And with the same to act controlling laws.
Give place; by heav'n, thou shalt rule no more
O'er him, whom heav'n created for thy ruler.

Som.
O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the King and Crown;
Obey, audacious traitor, kneel for grace.

York.
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;
^{7 note}

Wouldst have me kneel? First, let me ask of these,
If they can brook I bow a knee to man.
I know, ere they will let me go to Ward,
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

Q. Mar.
Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain,
To say, if that the bastard boys of York
Shall be the Surety for their traitor father.

York.
O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
Out-cast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
The sons of York, thy Betters in their Birth,
^{8 note note} Shall be their father's bail, and bane to those
That for my surety will refuse the boys. Enter Edward and Richard.
See, where they come; I'll warrant, they'll make it good. Enter Clifford.

Q. Mar.
And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail.

Clif.
Health and all Happiness to my Lord the King! [kneels.

York.
I thank thee, Clifford; say, what news with thee?
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look,
We are thy Sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

Clif.
This is my King, York, I do not mistake,
But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do.
—To Bedlam with him, is the man grown mad?

K. Henry.
Ay, Clifford, a Bedlam and ambitious humour
Makes him oppose himself against his King.6Q0179

Clif.
He is a traitor, let him to the Tower,
And crop away that factious pate of his.

Q. Mar.
He is arrested, but will not obey,
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

York.
Will you not, sons?

E. Plan.
Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

R. Plan.
And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

Clif.
Why, what a brood of traitors have we here?

York.
Look in a glass, and call thy image so,
I am thy King, and thou a false-heart traitor.
—^{9 note}
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
That with the very shaking of their chains
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs.
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

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