Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, March'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen. Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. [8] Done to death for killed, was a common expression long before Shakespeare's time. Faire mourir, a French phrase. JOHNSON. In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers : And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear: For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist; Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not; "Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords. War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, Why, Via! to London will we march amain; Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.' Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. But sound the trumpets, and about our task. Rich. 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. Edw. Then strike up, drums ;-God, and St. George, for us! Enter a Messenger. War. How now? what news? Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors: Let's away. Before York. SCENE II. [Exeunt. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the Prince of Wales, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces. Q. Mar. 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: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ; To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, [2] Why then things are as they should be. JOHNSON. Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: Who hath not seen them (even with those wings Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,— [[3] Fondly-i. e. foolishly.—[4] Alluding to a common proverb. STEEVENS. For all the rest is held at such a rate, As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And in that quarrel use it to the death. Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, [5] That is, Range your host, put your host in order. JOHNSON. |