And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.
Thou, Richard, shall to th' duke of Norfolk go,
And tell him privily of our intent.

You, Edward, fhall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rife.
In them I trust; for they are foldiers,
Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what refteth more
But that I feek occafion how to rife,

And yet the king not privy to my drift,

Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

Enter meffenger.

But stay, what news? why com'ft thou in fuch post?
GAB. The queen with all the northern earls and lords,
Intend here to besiege you in your castle.

She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;

And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

YORK. Ay, with my fword. What! think'ft thou that we fear them?

Edward and Richard you fhall stay with me;
My brother Montague shall post to London,
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the reft,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And truft not fimple Henry nor his oaths.
MONT. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not,
And thus moft humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit Mon.

Enter fir John Mortimer and fir Hugh Mortimer.

YORK. Sir John and fir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

You are come to Sandal in an happy hour.

The army of the queen means to besiege us.

Sir JOHN. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the field. YORK. What, with five thousand men?

RICH. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.

woman's general; what should we fear?

[A march afar off.

EDW. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in order,

And iffue forth, and bid them battle strait.

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 fuccefs?

[Alarm. Exeunt.

SCENE V. A field of battle between Sandal-caftle

and Wakefield.

Enter Rutland and his tutor.

RUT. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'fcape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.

Enter Clfford and foldiers.

CLIP. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life; As for the brat of this accurfed duke,

Whose father flew my father, he shall die.

TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIF. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce. TUTOR. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Left thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit, dragged off.

CLIF. How now? is he dead already? or, is't 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 fo he walks infulting o'er his prey,
And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy fword,
And not with fuch a cruel threatning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;
I am too mean a subject of thy wrath,

Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

CLIF. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy: my father's blood Hath stopt the paffage where thy words should enter. RUT. Then let my father's blood open't again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIF. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge fufficient for me.

No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,

And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

It could not flake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The fight of any of the house of York

Is as a fury to torinent my foul,
And till I root out their accurfed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore

[Lifting 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 flay me? CLIF. Thy father hath.

RUT. But 'twas, ere I was born.

Thou hast one fon, for his fake pity me;

Left in revenge thereof, fith God is just,

He be as miferably flain as I.

Ah, let me live in prison all my days,

And when I give occafion of offence,

Then let me die, for now thou haft no cause.

CLIF. No caufe!

Thy father flew my father, therefore die.

[Clifford ftabs him. RUT. "Dii faciant, laudis fumma fit ifta tuæ!" [Dies.

CLIF. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet !

And this thy fon's blood cleaving to my blade

Shall ruft upon my weapon, till thy blood,

Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

[Exit.

SCENE VI. Alarm. Enter Richard duke of York.

YORK. The army of the queen hath got the field :

My uncles both are flain in rescuing me,

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind,
Or lambs purfu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My fons, God knows, what hath bechanced them,
But this I know, they have demean'd themselves.
Like men born to renown, by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cry'd, courage, father! fight out:
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt

In blood of those that had encounter'd him :
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, charge! and give no foot of ground;
And cry'd, a crown, or else a glorious tomb,

A scepter or an earthly sepulchre.
With this we charg'd again; but out! alas,
We bodg'd again, as I have feen a swan

With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves,

[A fhort alarm within.

Ah! hark, the fatal followers do pursue,

And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury;
And were I ftrong I would not shun their fury,
The fands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter the queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the prince of
Wales, and foldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage,
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTH. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
CLIF. Ay, to fuch mercy as his ruthlefs arm
With downright payment fhew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick.

YORK. My afhes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all,

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heav'n,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not? what! multitudes and fear?

CLIF. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the faulcon's piercing talons;

So defperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,

Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

YORK. Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
And, if thou canft for blushing, view this face,

And bite thy tongue that flanders him with cowardife,