William Shakespeare's Third Part of King Henry the Sixth in the complete original text.
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Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

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Act V. Scene II.

Scene II.—A field of Battle near Barnet.

Alarums and Excursions. Enter KING EDWARD,
bringing in WARWICK, wounded.

K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die
our fear;
For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
Now Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.
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
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful
These eyes, that now are dimmed 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 brows, now fill'd with blood,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his
Lo! now my glory smear'd in dust and blood;
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, 24
Even 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
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Sow. Ah! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as
we are,
We might recover all our loss again.
The queen from France hath brought a puissant
Even now we heard the news. Ah! couldst thou
War. Why then, I would not fly. Ah!
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile.
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Som. Ah! Warwick, Montague hath breathed
his last;
And to the latest gasp, crieb out for Warwick,
And said, 'Commend me to my valiant brother.'
And more he would have said; and more he spoke,
Which sounded like a clamour in a vault.
That mought not be distinguish'd: but at last
I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
'O! farewell, Warwick!'
War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and
save yourselves;
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in
heaven. [Dies.
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great
[Exeunt, bearing off WARWICK'S body.
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