Warwick.
Where is the Post, that came from valiant Oxford?
How far hence is thy Lord, mine honest fellow?

1 Mes.
By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-ward.

War.
How far off is our brother Montague?
—Where is the Post, that came from Montague?

2 Mes.
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter Somerville.

War.
Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somerv.
At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.

War.
Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

Somerv.
It is not his, my Lord; here Southam lies.
The drum, your Honour hears, marcheth from Warwick.

War.
Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

Somerv.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, and Soldiers.

K. Edw.
Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.

Glo.
See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War.
Oh, unbid spight! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could hear no news of his repair?

K. Edw.
Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city-gates,
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee?
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy,
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War.
Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

Glo.
I thought, at least, he would have said the King;
Or did he make the jest against his will?

War.
Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift?

Glo.
Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give:
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

War.
'Twas I, that gave the Kingdom to thy brother.

K. Edw.
Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

War.
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight,
And, Weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.

K. Edw.
But Warwick's King is Edward's prisoner;
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,
What is the body when the head is off?

Glo.
Alas! that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But while he thought to steal the single ten,
The King was slily finger'd from the Deck;
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

K. Edw.
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

Glo.
Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel down.
Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.

War.
I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,

And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

K. Edw.
Sail, how thou canst; have wind and tide thy friend;
This hand fast wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood;
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. SCENE II. Enter Oxford, with drum and colours.

War.
O chearful colours! see, where Oxford comes!

Oxf.
Oxford! Oxford! for Lancaster!

Glo.
The gates are open, let us enter too.

K. Edw.
So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us battle:
If not, the city being of small defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the same.

War.
O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. Enter Montague, with drum and colours.

Mont.
Montague! Montague! for Lancaster!

Glo.
Thou, and thy brother both, shall buy this treason
Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

K. Edw.
The harder match'd, the greater victory;
My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. Enter Somerset, with drum and colours.

Som.
Somerset! Somerset! for Lancaster!

Glo.
Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours.

War.
And lo! where George of Clarence sweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle,
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love.
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call— [A Parley is sounded; Richard and Clarence whisper together; and then Clarence takes his red rose out of his hat, and throws it at Warwick.]^{3 note}

Cla.
Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
Look, here, I throw my infamy at thee.
I will not ruinate my father's house,
Who gave his blood * ^noteto lime the stones together,
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so † ^noteblunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath;
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Jepthah's, when he sacrific'd his daughter.
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,
To plague thee for thy foul mis-leading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
—Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

K. Edw.
Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

Glo.
Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like.

War.
O * ^notepassing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!

K. Edw.
What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

War.
Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.

K. Edw.
Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
—Lords, to the field; St. George and victory! [Exeunt. March. Warwick and his Company follow. SCENE III. A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarm and Excursions. Enter Edward, bringing forth Warwick wounded.

K. Edw.
So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our Fear;
^{4 note}For Warwick was a bug, that scar'd us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast, I seek for thee;
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit.

War.
Ah, who is nigh? come to me friend, or foe,
And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my Fall, the Conquest to my foe.

Thus yields the Cedar to the ax's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
These eyes, that now are dim'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day Sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to kingly sepulchres,
For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo! now my glory smear'd in dust and blood.
* ^note
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter Oxford and Somerset.

Som.
Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our loss again;
The Queen from France hath brought a puissant Pow'r;
Ev'n now we heard the news. Ah, could'st thou fly!

War.
Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Montague;
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul a while.
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glews my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Som.
Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gasp cry'd out for Warwick,
And said, Commend me to my valiant brother.
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,

^{5 note}Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
That might not be distinguish'd; but at last
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,
O, farewel, Warwick!—

War.
Sweetly rest his soul!
Fly, Lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids
You all farewel, to meet again in heav'n. [Dies.

Oxf.
Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power. [They bear away his Body, and Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest.

K. Edw.
Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious Sun,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed;
I mean, my Lords, those Powers, that the Queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our Coast,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

Clar.
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
And blow it to the source from whence it came;
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.

Glo.
The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,

And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.
If she hath time to breathe, be well assur'd,
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course tow'rd Tewksbury.
We having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight; for willingness rids way;
And as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the Drum, cry,—Courage, and away. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Changes to Tewksbury. March. Enter the Queen, Prince of Wales, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers.

Queen.
Great Lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But chearly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our Pilot still; is't meet, that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tear-full eyes add water to the sea;
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
While in his moan the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our top-mast; what of him?
Our slaughter'd friends, the tackle; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
And Somerset another goodly mast?
The friends of France our shrouds and tackling still?
And though unskilful, why not Ned and I

For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
But keep our course, though the rough wind say, No,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair;
And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea?
What Clarence, but a quick-sand of deceit?
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor Bark.
Say, you can swim, alas, 'tis but a while;
Tread on the sand, why, there you quickly sink:
Bestride the rock, the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish, that's a three-fold death.
This speak I, Lords, to let you understand,
In case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers,
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks,
Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

Prince.
Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity,
And make him naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this, as doubting any here,
For did I but suspect a fearful man,
He should have leave to go away betimes;
Lest, in our Need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as, God forbid!
Let him depart before we need his help.

Oxf.
Women and children of so high a courage!
And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.
Oh, brave young Prince! thy famous Grandfather
Doth live again in thee; long may'st thou live,
To bear his image, and renew his glories!

Som.
And he, that will not fight for such a hope,
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day,
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

Queen.
Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.

Prince.
And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
Prepare you, Lords, for Edward is at hand,
Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

Oxf.
I thought no less; it is his policy,
To haste thus fast to find us unprovided.

Som.
But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness.

Queen.
This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

Oxf.
Here pitch our battle, hence we will not budge. SCENE VI. March. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, and Soldiers, on the other side of the stage.

* ^noteK. Edw.
Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,
Which, by the heav'n's assistance and your strength,
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out.
Give signal to the fight, and to it, Lords.

Queen.
Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I should say,
My tears gain-say, for every word I speak,
Ye see, I drink the water of my eye:
Therefore no more but this: Henry, your Sov'reign,
Is pris'ner to the foe, his State usurp'd,
His Realm a slaughter-house, his Subjects slain,
His Statutes cancell'd, and his Treasure spent,
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice; then, in God's name, Lords,
Be valiant, and give signal to the battle.

Alarm. Retreat. Excursions. Both Parties go out. Re-enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, &c. The Queen, Oxford, and Somerset, Prisoners.

K. Edw.
Now here's a period of tumultuous broils.
Away with Oxford to Hammes castle straight;
For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
—Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

Oxf.
For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.

Som.
Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. [Exeunt.

Queen.
So part we sadly in this troublous world,
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

K. Edw.
Is Proclamation made, that who finds Edward,
Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

Glo.
It is, and lo where youthful Edward comes. Enter the Prince of Wales.

K. Edw.
Bring forth the Gallant, let us hear him speak.
—What? can so young a thorn begin to prick?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
For bearing arms, for stirring up my Subjects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

Prince.
Speak like a Subject, proud ambitious York.
Suppose, that I am now my father's mouth;
Resign thy Chair; and, where I stand, kneel thou,
Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee,
Which, Traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

Queen.
Ah! that thy father had been so resolv'd!

Glo.
That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stoln the breech from Lancaster.

Prince.
Let ^{6 note}Æsop fable in a winter's night,

His currish riddles sort not with this place.

Glo.
By heav'n, Brat, I'll plague ye for that word.

Queen.
Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

Glo.
For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

Prince.
Nay, take away this scolding crook-back rather.

K. Edw.
Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

Cla.
Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

Prince.
I know my duty, you're undutiful:
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George,
And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all,
I am your Better, Traitors as ye are,
And thou usurp'st my Father's Right and mine.

Glo.
Take that, * ^notethou likeness of this railer here. [Stabs him.

K. Edw.
And take thou that, to end thy agony. [Edw. stabs him.

Cla.
And there's for twitting me with perjury. [Clar. stabs him.

Queen.
Oh, kill me too!

Glo.
Marry, and shall.— [Offers to kill her.

K. Edw.
Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.

Glo.
Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

K. Edw.
What? doth she swoon? use means for her recov'ry.

Glo.
Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother:
I'll hence to London on a serious matter.
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

Cla.
What? what?

Glo.
The Tower, man, the Tower!—I'll root 'em out. [Exit:

Queen.
Oh Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, Boy.
Canst thou not speak? O traitors, murderers!
They, that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all;

Did not offend, and were not worthy blame,
If this foul deed were by, to equal it.
He was a man; this (in respect) a child;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak—
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.
Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals,
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropt!
You have no children, Butchers; if you had,
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse;
But if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off;
As, Deathsmen! * ^noteyou have rid this sweet young Prince.

K. Edw.
Away with her, go bear her hence by force.

Queen.
Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here,
Here sheath thy sword. I'll pardon thee my death.
What? wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.

Cla.
By heav'n, I will not do thee so much ease.

Queen.
Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

Cla.
Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it?

Queen.
Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.
† ^note'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
What, wilt thou not? ^{7 note}

K. Edw.
Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

Queen.
So come to you and yours, as to this Prince! [Exit Queen.

K. Edw.
Where's Richard gone?

Cla.
To London all in post; and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw.
He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence, discharge the common sort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
And see our gentle Queen, how well she fares,
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Changes to the Tower of London. Enter King Henry with a book, and Gloucester, with the Lieutenant on the Tower Walls.

Glo.
Good day, my Lord; what! at your book so hard?

K. Henry.
Ay, my good Lord; my Lord, I should say rather;
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better;
Good Glo'ster, and good devil, were alike.
And both prepost'rous; therefore not, good Lord.

Glo.
Sir, leave us to ourselves, we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant.

K. Henry.
So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf.
So first the harmless flock doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
^{9 note}What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

Glo.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Henry.
The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings mis-doubteth ev'ry bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.

Glo.
Why, what a ^{9 note}peevish fool was that of Creet,
That taught his son the office of a fowl?
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

K. Henry.
I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos that deny'd our course;
The Sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,
Whose envious gulph did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words;
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragick history.
—But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?

Glo.
Think'st thou, I am an executioner?

K. Henry.
A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
If murd'ring innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo.
Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. Henry.
Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand,
^{1 note}Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,
Men for their sons, wives for their husband's fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,

Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign,
The night-crow cry'd, a boding luckless Tune,
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees,
^{2 note}

Glo.
I'll hear no more: die Prophet in thy speech; [Stabs him.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

K. Henry.
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
—O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee. [Dies.

Glo.
What! will th' aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought, it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor King's death!
O, may such purple tears be always shed,
From those who wish the Downfall of our House.
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell, and say, I sent thee thither; [Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.—
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd, and the women cry'd,
O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!
And so I was; which plainly signify'd
That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heav'ns have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I had no father, I am like no father.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word Love, which grey-beards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am myself alone.—
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buz abroad such Prophecies,
That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the Prince his son, are gone;
Clarence, thy Turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room;
And triumph, Henry! in the day of doom. [Exit.

SCENE VIII. The Palace in London. Enter King Edward, Queen, Clarence, Gloucester, Hastings, Nurse with the young Prince and Attendants.

K. Edw.
Once more we sit on England's royal Throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies:
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down in top of all their pride?
Three Dukes of Somerset, three-fold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their Coursers at the trumpet's sound.
With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly Lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept Suspicion from our Seat,
And made our footstool of Security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. [Taking the child.
Young Ned, for thee, thine Uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch'd the winter-night;
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat;
That thou mightst re-possess the Crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo. Aside.
I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid,
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back;
Work thou the way, and that shall execute.* ^note

K. Edw.
Clarence and Glo'ster, love my lovely Queen;
And kiss your princely Nephew, Brothers both.

Cla.
The Duty, that I owe your Majesty,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet Babe.

Queen.
^{4 note}Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

Glo.
And that I love the tree, from whence thou sprang'st,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.—
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master; Aside.
And cry'd, all hail! when as he meant all harm. Aside.

K. Edw.
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my Country's Peace and Brothers' Loves.

Clar.
What will your Grace have done with Margaret?
Reignier her father to the King of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem;
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

K. Edw.
Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
And now what rests but that we spend the time
With stately Triumphs, mirthful Comick Shows,
Such as befit the pleasure of the Court?
Sound, drums and trumpets. Farewel, sour Annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting Joy. [Exeunt omnes. ^note

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