Act II. Scene I.A Plain near Mortimer's
Cross in Herefordshire.
Drums. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD, with
their Forces, marching,
Edw. I wonder how our princely father,
Or whether he be 'scap'd away or no
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.
Had he been ta'en we should have heard the
Had he been slain we should have heard the
Or had he 'scap'd, methinks we should have
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about,
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my war-like father:
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun;
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love.
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect
Not separated with the racking clouds,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet
never heard of.
I think it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should notwithstanding join our lights to-
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair-shining suns.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters: by your
leave I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mess. Ah! one that was a woeful looker-on,
When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O! speak no more, for I have heard too
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdu'd;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high de-
Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford
And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
Edu'. Sweet Duke of York! our prop to lean
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!
O Clifford! boist'rous Clifford! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd
Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
Ah! would she break from hence, that this my
Might in the ground be closed up in rest,
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O! never, shall I see more joy.
Rich. I cannot weep, for all my body's
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal
Is kindling coals that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames, that tears would
To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears then, for babes; blows and revenge for
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,
Or die renowned by attempting it.
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
March. Enter WARWICK and the
MARQUESS OF MONTAGUE, with Forces.
War. How now, fair lords! What fare?
what news abroad?
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'r-
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the
O valiant lord! the Duke of York is slain.
Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Planta-
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp-
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things sith then befallen.
After the bloody fray at Wakefleld fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I, then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the
Bearing the king in my behalf along;
For by my scouts I was advertised
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching King Henry's oath and your suc-
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his war-like queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thresher with a flail
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we in them no hope to win the day;
So that we fled: the king unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here we heard you were,
Making another head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle
And when came George from Burgundy to Eng-
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant War-
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
Were he as famous, and as bold in war
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame
'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time what's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry, 'Charge upon our foes!'
But never once again turn back and fly.
Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great. War-
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
And when thou fail'stas God forbid the hour!
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!
War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of
The next degree is England's royal throne;
For King of England shall thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he that throws not up his cap for joy
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums! God, and Saint
George for us!
Enter a Messenger.
War. How now! what news?
Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts; brave warriors, let's