A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

See who it is.

Edw. And now the battle's ended,

If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

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 murd'ring knife unto the root From whence that tender fpray did sweetly spring; I mean, our princely father, Duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: Inftead whereof, let his fupply the room.

Measure for measure muft be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal fcreech-owl to our house, That nothing fung but death to us and ours: Now death fhall 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-shades 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,

As in the time of death he gave our father.

Cla. If fo thou think'it, vex him with eager words. Rich. Clifford, afk mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootlefs penitence. War. Clifford, devile excuses for thy faults. Cla. While we devife fell tortures for thy faults. Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am fon to York. Edw. Thou pitied'ft Rutland, I will pity thee. Cla. Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now? War. They mock thee, Clifford; fwear, as thou waft wont. Rich. What, not an oath! nay, then the world goes hard, When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath : I know by that, he's dead; and, by my foul, 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 Rutland could not fatisfy.

War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's ftands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal King:
From whence fhall Warwick cut the fea to France,
And afk the Lady Bona for thy Queen.

So fhalt thou finew both these 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 t'offend thine ears.
Firft, will I fee the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,

T'effect this marriage, fo it please my Lord.

Edw. Ev'n as thou wilt, fweet Warwick, let it be For on thy fhoulder do I build my feat:

And never will I undertake the thing,

Wherein thy counfel, and confent, is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glo'fter;
And George, of Clarence; Warwick as ourself
Shall do and undo, as him pleaseth beft.

Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence; George, of Glo'fters For Glo'fter's dukedom is too ominous. (14)

(14) For Glo'fter's dukedom is too ominous.] This paffage feems fneer'd at by B. Fonfon in his Devil's an Afs: where a foolish fellow is duped into the opinion of being created a Duke.

Meer-cr. I think, we ha' found a place to fit you now, Sir: Glowcefter.

Fitz-det. O, no; I'll none.

Meer-cr. Why, Sir?

Fitz-dot. 'Tis fatal.

Meer-cr. That you fay right in. Spencer, I think, the younger, had his laft honour thence, But he was but an Earl.

Fitz-dot. I know not that, Sir: But Thomas of Woodstock, I'm fure, was Duke; and he was made away at Calice, as Duke Humphry was at Bury: And Richard the Third, you know, what end he came to. Meer-cr. By my faith, you're cunning in the chronicle, Sir. Fitz-dot. No, I confefs, I ha't from the play-books; and think, they're more authentick.

War.

War. Tut, that's a foolish obfervation:

Richard, be Duke of Glo'fter: now to London,
To see these honours in poffeffion.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE, a Wood in Lancashire.

Enter Sinklo and Humphry, with cross-bows in their

bands.

SINKLO.

UN

Nder this thick-grown brake we'll fhroud ourselves, For through this land anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our ftand, Culling the principal of all the deer.

Hum. I'll ftay above the hill, fo both may shoot.
Sink. That cannot be the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and fo my fhoot is loft:
Here ftand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a day,

In this felf-place where now we mean to ftand.
Hum. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.
Enter King Henry, with a prayer-book.

K. Henry. From Scotland am I ftol'n ev'n of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful fight:
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,.

Thy place is fill'd, thy fcepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm wafht off wherewith thou waft anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cafar now,
No humble fuitors prefs to speak for right:
No, not a man comes for redrefs to thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

Sink. Ay, here's a deer, whofe fkin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam King, let's feize upon him.

K. Henry

K. Henry. Let me embrace thefe four adversities;
For wife men fay, it is the wifeft course.

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

K. Henry. My Queen and fon are gone to France for aid:
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone to crave the French King's fifter
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen and fon! your labour is but loft:
For Warwick is a fubtle orator:

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 :
Her fighs will make a batt'ry in his breaft;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tyger will be mild, while fhe doth mourn;
And Nero would be tainted with remorfse,
To hear and fee her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but he's come to beg, Warwick to give:
She, on his left fide, craving aid for Henry;
He, on his right, afking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and fays, her Henry is depos'd;
He fmiles, and fays, his Edward is install'd ;
That he, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more!
While Warwick tells his title, fmooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,

And in conclufion wins the King from her;
With promife of his fifter, and what else,

To ftrengthen, and support, King Edward's place.
O Margret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poor foul)
Art then forfaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

Hum.Say, what art thouthat talk'st of Kingsand Queens?
K. Henry. More than I feem, and lefs than I was born to,
A man at least, for lefs I should 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, so I am in mind, and that's enough.
Hum. 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

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 fubjects, fworn in all allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his enemy.

K. Henry. But did you never swear, 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
England?

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 fubjects unto me:
And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths?
Sink. No, we were fubje&ts but while you were King.
K. Henry. Why, anı I dead? do I not breathe, a man?
Ah, fimple men, you know not what you fwear.
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 oaths, for of that fin
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 fubjects 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

obey'd;

And what God will, that let your King perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

[Exeunt.

SCENE