K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums. Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER. Prince. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled, 'And Warwick rages like à chafed bull. Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 'Q. Mar. Mount you, my post amain. lord; towards Berwick Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds, Having the fearful, flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter ; • Not that I fear to stay, but love to go • Whither the queen intends. Forward! away! [Exeunt. A loud alarum. SCENE VI. The same. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. More than my body's parting with my soul. Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left no mourning widows for our death; For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold, but too much le nity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. The foe is merciless, and will not pity; [he faints. Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. 'Ed. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause, And smoothe the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ;- As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. 'But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans, and dies. Ed. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. Ed. See who it is; and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. |