Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, And overshine the earth, as this the world!— But who art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Enter HASTINGS.

Hastings! the sorrow on thy face proclaims
The sad event, my fears presag'd.

Hastings.

Alas!

Would I could tell you that your fears are false!
The noble York, your father, is no more.

Edward. O speak no more, for I have heard too much.

Richard. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Hastings. He was environ'd with superior forces, And stood against them as the hope of Troy, The valiant Hector, 'gainst invading Greeks. But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; And

many strokes, tho' with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdu'd, But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford, and the Queen; Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite ; Laugh'd in his face, and when with grief he wept, The ruthless Queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, A napkin dripping with the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, whom fierce Clifford slew; And after many scorns, they took his head,

And fixt it bleeding on the gates of York.
Ah! sight too mournful for these eyes to bear!

Edward. Sweet York! our only hope, our only joy,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!
O Clifford, barb'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
The flow'r of Europe for fair chivalry;

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him :
In equal fight thou hadst not dar'd to face him!-
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah, would she break from bondage, that my body
Might in the ground be clos'd in endless rest.
For never henceforth shall I taste of comfort,
Never, O never, shall I know more joy.

Richard. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart.
Το weep, is but to ease the weight of grief.
Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,
Or die with glory in the great attempt.

Edward. His name the valiant Duke has left with thee:

His chair and dukedom,—that remains for me. Richard. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's young,

Show thy descent by gazing at the sun!

For chair and dukedom,-throne and kingdom say; Or that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

Therefore to arms! and brother, do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,
Within whose circuit is Elysium,

And all that Poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dy'd

Deep in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

Enter WARWICK.

Warwick. How now, my Lords! what fare, what news abroad?

Richard. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should
recount

Our baleful news, and at each word we utter
Stab poniards in our breasts, till all were told,

The words would give more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant Lord! the Duke of York is slain.

Warwick. Ten days ago, I drown'd these news in

tears.

And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you what has since befall'n-
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
I rais'd new soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And fir'd with hopes of gallant victory,
March'd tow'rds St. Albans, t' intercept the Queen.
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought.
But whether 'twas her more than manly spirit,
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated courage;
Or whether 'twas the fear of Clifford's vigor,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
Their weapons like the winged lightning came.
Our soldiers'-like the night owl's lazy flight,

Or like an idle thresher with a flail,

L

Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them with the justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay and great rewards,
But all in vain; the dastards fled the field-
And robb'd me of the triumph of revenge.
Richard. 'Twas strange indeed when valiant War-
wick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er till now the scandal of his flight.

Warwick. Nor now my scandal, Richard, shalt thou hear.

For thou shalt know, this hand unconquer'd still
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his grasp,
Were he as dauntless in the fields of war,

As he is fam'd for mildness and for peace.

Richard. I know it well, brave Warwick; blame
me not.

The love I bear thy glories, prompts my tongue,
But in this troublous time what course to take?
Say, shall we throw away our coats of steel,
And wrap our bodies in soft mourning gowns ;
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

Display our sorrows with revengeful arms?

Warwick. Mourn not in black; no! let us mourn

in blood.

And therefore Warwick came to seek

you out. Attend me, Lords! the proud insulting Queen, With Clifford and the high Northumberland,

Are at the head of thirty thousand men.

Now if your pow'rs and mine, and those of Clarence,
Make up but half the number of this host,

To meet their forces will we march along,
And once again cry-Charge upon the foe.

Richard. Ay, now, methinks, great Warwick speaks again.

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,

That cries retreat-when Warwick bids him stand! Edward. Ah! Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,

And when thou fail'st-as God forbid the hour!
Must Edward fall!

Warwick.

Now Edward, Duke of York :

The next degree is England's royal throne.
For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd

In ev'ry country as we pass along;

And he that casts not up his cap with joy,

Shall for th' offence make forfeit of his head.

Richard. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as' steel,

As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Edward. Now will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd; And on my standard bear the arms of York, To grapple with the house of Lancaster, And rend the crown of England from his brow, Whose feeble sway has tarnish'd all its lustre. Then strike up drums: God and St. George for us!