Act I. Scene
Scene III.Field of Battle between Sandal
Castle and Wakefield.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their
Ah! tutor, look, where bloody Clifford comes!
Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers.
Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him com-
Clif. Soldiers, away with him.
Tut. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent
Lest thou be hated both of God and man!
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or is
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.
Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the
That trembles under his devouring paws;
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 reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and
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 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 Ms hand.
Rut. O! let me pray before I take my
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
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.
Rut. Dii faciant laudis summa sit ista
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, do make me wipe off both.