Enter a MESSENGER.

Warwick. How now, what news!

Messenger.

Prepare you, noble Lords!

The Duke of Clarence sends you word by me,

The Queen is coming with a powerful host;

He craves your company for speedy counsel.

Warwick. Then all is well :-brave warriors, let's

away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. York.

Enter KING HENRY, the QUEEN, PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD, and SOMERSET.

Queen. Welcome, my Lord, to this brave town of York.

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,

That sought to be encompass'd with your crown.
Does not that object cheer your heart, my Lord?
King Henry. Ay, as the rocks cheer those, that
fear a wreck.

This sight, believe me, pains my very soul.
Withhold revenge, O God, 'twas not my fault:
Unwillingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clifford. My gracious Liege, this timeless lenity, And dang'rous pity, must be laid aside.

To whom do Lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast, that would usurp their den.

Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he, who sets his foot upon her back.

on,

The smallest worm will turn, if trodden
And doves themselves will peck, to guard their brood.
Ambition prompted York to claim thy crown,
And raise his offspring to the throne of England.
Whilst thou, a King, and blest with such a son,
Couldst tamely yield his fair inheritance!

Be not more senseless than the feather'd race,
Who, in protection of their tender ones,

Make fearless war with him, that climbs their nest,
Off'ring their own lives in their young's defence.
O it were pity, that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault.
Sweet innocence! ah look on this dear youth,
And let his manly face, which promises
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold the crown, and hold it-for his sake!
King Henry. Full well has Clifford play'd the
orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
That the most splendid crown was lin'd with thorns?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,
Ah, would my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a price,
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any share of pleasure.-
Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends could know
How my heart grieves to see thy bleeding head!

Queen. My Lord, cheer up your sp'rits; our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.You promis'd knighthood to our gracious son: Unsheath your sword, and prosper Heav'n the deed!

King Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson; draw thy sword in right!

Prince. I'll draw it, honor'd father, by your leave, As heir apparent to the crown of England: And in that cause I'll shed my life's warm blood. Clifford. O mayst thou live, to lay the parching

dust

With show'rs of blood from slaughter'd enemies!
O may'st thou emulate thy grandsire's valor,
Harry of Monmouth, and like him arise
The pride of England, and the scourge of France

Enter a MESSENGER.

Messenger. Royal commanders, be in readiness! For with a band of twenty thousand men Comes, Warwick, backing the young Duke of York. And in the country, as they march along, Proclaims him King, and many fly to him.

Prepare your battle, for they are at hand.

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And knit their sinews in your just defence. I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as York.

Unsheath your sword, good father, cry St. George!

ACT II.-SCENE I.

A field of battle near Towton in Yorkshire.

Alarm

Excursions-Fight.

Enter WARWICK.

SORE spent with toil, as runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe.

For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid

Have robb'd my strong knit sinews of their strength. And, come what will, needs must I rest awhile.

Enter EDWARD running.

Edward. Smile, gentle heav'n, or strike, unfriendly death!

O let us die, or nobly gain the day.

What fatal star malignant frowns from heav'n

Upon the house of York!

Clarence.

Enter CLARENCE.

Rouze, rouze, my brother,

Straight let us hasten to the field again,
For I have hope we still shall win the day.
Then let us back to cheer our fainting troops;
They'll soon retreat, if we desert the field.

Edward. Thus sorely check'd, our hope is flat

despair.

Our ranks are broken, ruin follows us.

Warwick. Who talks of ruin? what the royal Edward!

Unmanly weakness, hence! for at the name

Of ruin to our cause, a thousand swords

Shall from their scabbards leap, at Warwick's call. Now Richard, how's the day?'

Ah luckless day!

Richard, (entering.) Fitz-Walter, leading his victorious host To join our forces, and ensure success, By Clifford's army was surpriz'd and fell. And, in the very pangs of death, he cried: Warwick, revenge my death!-beneath their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his blood, he died.. Warwick. Then let the earth be satiated with blood! [he draws his sword, and rushes out-return

ing he says,

I've kill'd my horse, because I would not fly.--
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, while the foe pursues?
And tamely look, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here, on my knee, I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, Ill ne'er stand still,
Till death has clos'd these eyes in endless rest,
Or fortune giv'n me measure of revenge!

Edward. Yes, Warwick, I will bend my knee with thine,