Rut.
Ah, whither ^note shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter Clifford and Soldiers. ^note

Clif.
Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed ^note duke,
Whose ^note father slew my father, he shall die.

Tut.
And I, my lord, will bear him company.

Clif.
Soldiers, away with him ^note!

Tut.
Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man! [Exit ^note, dragged off by Soldiers.

Clif.
How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them ^note.

Rut.
So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring ^note paws ^note;
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threatening look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

Clif.
In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter ^note.

Rut.
Then let my father's blood open it ^note again:
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Clif.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the ^note house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore— [Lifting his hand. ^note

Rut.
O, let me pray before I take my death!
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

Clif.
Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

Rut.
I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

Clif.
Thy father hath.

Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

Clif.
No cause!
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him. ^note

Rut.
Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuæ! [Dies. ^note

Clif.
Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade

Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this ^note, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. ^note

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