Q. Mar.
Away, my Lord, you are slow; for shame, away.

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 [Alarm afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then shall 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. Alarm. 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 ^{7 note}brush of time;
And, like a ^{8 note}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,
* ^noteThree 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 a homely house,
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 battle, 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. ^note

THE THIRD PART OF With the DEATH of the

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