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Command an Argofie to ftem the Waves:
But think you Lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impoffible he fhould escape:
For though before his Face I fpeak the word,
Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave;
And wherefoe'er he is, he's furely dead.

[Clifford groans,
Rich. Whofe Soul is that, which takes her heavy leave?
A deadly groan, like Life and Death's departing.
See who it is.

Edw. And now the Battel's ended,

If Friend or Foe, let him be gently ufed.

Rich. Revoke that doom of Mercy, for 'tis Clifford,
Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch
In hewing Rutland, when his leaves put forth,
But fet his murth'ring Knife unto the Root,
From whence that tender fpray did fweetly fpring,
I mean our Princely Father, Duke of York.

War. From off the Gates of Tork fetch down the head,
Your Father's Head, which Clifford placed there:
Inftead whereof, let his fupply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal Screech-owl to our House,
That nothing fung but Death to us and ours:
Now death hall ftop his difmal threatning found,
And his ill-boading Tongue no more shall speak.
War. I think his understanding is bereft:

Speak Clifford, doft thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy Death o'er-fhades his Beams of Life,
And he nor fees, nor hears us, what we fay.

Rich. O would he did; and fo, perhaps, he doth 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid fuch bitter taunts
Which in the time, of death he gave our Father.
Cla. If fo thou thinkst,

Vex him with eager words.

Rich. Clifford, ask Mercy, and obtain no Grace,
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootlefs penitence.
War: Clifford, devife excufes for thy faults.
Cla. While we devife fell Tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am Son to Tork.
Edw. Thou pitied'ft Rutland, I will pity thee,

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Cla. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford,
Swear, as thou waft wont.

Rich. What, not an Oath! Nay, then the World goes hard,
When Clifford cannot fpare his Friends an Oath:

I know by that he's dead, and by my Soul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours life,
That I, in all defpight, might rail at him,

This hand fhould chop it off; and with the iffuing Blood
Stifle the Villain, whofe unftanched thirst

York, and young Ruiland, could not fatisfie.

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the Traitor's Head,
And rear it in the place your Father's stands,
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's Royal King:
From whence fhall Warwick cut the Sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen.

So fhalt thou finew both thefe Lands together,
And having France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd Foe, that hopes to rife again:
For though they cannot greatly fting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz to offend thine Ears.
Firft will I fee the Coronation,

And then to Britany I'll cross the Sea,

To effect this Marriage, fo it please my Lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, fweet Warwick, let it be;
For on thy Shoulder do I build my Seat:

And never will I undertake the thing

Wherein thy Counfel and Confent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glofter,
And George of Clarence; Warwick as our felf
Shall do, and undo, as him pleafech best.

Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Glo'ster,
For Glofter's Dukedom is too ominous,
War. Tut, that's a foolish obfervation:

Richard, be Duke of Glofter: Now to London,
To see these honours in poffeffion.

[Exeunt.

АСТ

ACT III. SCENE I.
АСТ

Enter Sinklo, and Humphry, with Cross-bows in their

Hands.

Sink Under this thick grown brake we'll shrowd our felves;

For through this Laund anon the Deer will come,

And in this Covert will we make our Stand,
Culling the principal of all the Deer.

Hump. I'll ftay above the Hill, fo both may fhoot.
Sink. That cannot be, the noife of thy Crofs-bow
Will scare the Herd, and fo my shoot is loft:
Here ftand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time shall not feem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a Day,
In this felf-place, where now we mean to ftand.
Sink. Here comes a Man, let's ftay 'till he be past.
Enter King Henry with a Prayer-Book.

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K. Henry. From Scotland am I ftol'n even of pure love, greet mine own Land with my wifhful fight:

No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine,

Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee,
Thy Balm washt off wherewith thou waft anointed,
No bending Knee will call thee Cafar now,
No humble Sutors prefs to fpeak for right:
No, not a Man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not my felf?

Sink. Ay, here's a Deer, whofe Skin's a Keeper's Fee: This is the quondam King; let's feize upon him.

K. Henry. Let me embrace the four Adverfaries,

For wife Men fay, it is the wifeft course.

Hump. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
Sink Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry. My Queen and Son are gone to France for a'd: And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick

Is thither gone, to crave the French King's Sifter
To Wife for Edward. If this news be true,

Poor Queen, and Son, your labour is but loft:
For Warwick is a fubtle Orator;

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And Lewis a Prince foon won with moving Words:
By this account then Margaret may win him,
For fhe's a Woman to be pitied much:

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Her fighs will make a batt'ry in his Breaft,
Her Tears will pierce into a Marble Heart:
The Tyger will be mild, whiles fhe doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorfe,
To hear and fee her plaints, her brinish Tears.
Ay, but fhe's come to beg, Warwick to give:
She on his left fide craving Aid for Henry;
He on his right, asking a Wife for Edward.
She weeps, and fays, her Henry is depos'd;
He fmiles, and fays, his Edward is inftall'd;
That the poor wretch for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick tells his Title, fmooths the wrong;
Inferreth Arguments of mighty ftrength,
And in conclufion wins the King from her,
With promife of his Sifter, and what elfe,
To ftrengthen and fupport King Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poor Soul)

Art then forfaken, as thou went'ft forlorn.

Hum. Say, what art thou that talk'ft of Kings, and Queens? K. Henry. More than I feem, and lefs than I was born to A Man at leaft, for lefs I fhould not be;

And Men may talk of Kings, and why not I?

Hum. Ay, but thou talk'ft as if thou wert a King. K. Henry. Why fo I am, in Mind, and that's enough. Ham. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crown? K. Henry. My Crown is in my Heart, not on my Head: Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian Stones;

Not to be feen: My Crown is call'd Content,

A Crown it is that feldom Kings enjoy.

Hum. Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content, Your Crown Content, and you must be contented

To go along with us. For, as we think,

You are the King, King Edward hath depos'd:
And we his Subjects, fworn in all Allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his Enemy.

K. Henry. But did you never fwear, and break an Oath.
Hum. No, never fuch an Oath, nor will not now.

K. Henry. Where did you dwell when I was King of Exgland?

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Hum. Here in this Country, where we now remain.
K. Henry. I was anointed King at nine Months old,
My Father, and my Grandfather were Kings;
And you were fworn true Subjects unto me:

And tell me then, have you not broke your Oaths?
Sink. No, for we were Subjects but while you were a King.
K. Henry. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a Man?
Ah fimple Men, you know not what you swear:
Look, as I blow this Feather from my Face,
And as the Air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my Wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater guft;
Such is the lightnefs of you common Men.
But do not break your Ŏath, for of that Sin
My mild intreaty fhall not make you guilty,
Go where you will, the King fhall be commanded,
And be you Kings, command, and I'll obey.
Sink. We are true Subjects to the King,

King Edward.

K. Henry. So would you be again to Henry, If he were feated as King Edward is.

Sink. We charge you in God's Name and in the King's, To go with us unto the Officers.

K. Henry. In God's Name lead, your King's Name be oAnd what God will, that let your King perform, [bey'd, And, what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. Enter King Edward, Gloucefter, Clarence, and Lady Gray K. Edw. Brother of Glofter, at St. Alban's Field This Lady's Husband, Sir Richard Gray, was flain, His Land then feiz'd on by the Conqueror : Her fuit is now, to repoffefs thofe Lands, Which we in Juftice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the Houfe of York, The worthy Gentleman did lofe his Life.

Glo. Your Highnefs fhall do well to grant her Suit:
It were dishonour to deny it her.

K. Edw. It were no lefs; but yet I'll make a paufe.
Glo. Yea! is it fo?

I fee the Lady hath a thing to grant,

Before the King will grant her humble Suit.

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