Sir John. She shall not need; we 'll meet her in

the field.

York. What, with five thousand men?

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's general: what should we fear?

6

[a march afar off.

Ed. I hear their drums; let's set our men in

order;

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty-though the odds

be great,

I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.

Many a battle have I won in France,

• When as the enemy hath been ten to one.

Why should I not now have the like success?

[alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Plains near Sandal castle.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and his

TUTOR.

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?

Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!

Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy

life.

As for the brat of this accursed duke,

Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tu. And I, my lord, will bear him company.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him!

Tu. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent

child,

Lest thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit, forced off by Soldiers. Clif. How now! is he dead already, or is it

fear,

That makes him close his eyes?—I 'll open them.

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 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 subiect for the 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.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it 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 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 heil.
Therefore-

[lif tiny his hand. 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 1 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.

[Clifford stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ ! 2

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

[dies.

1 Since.

2 Heaven grant that this may be your greatest boast!' Ovid. Epist.