But that I feek occafion how to rife?

And yet the King not privy to my drift,

Nor any of the houfe of Lancaster.

Enter Meffenger.

But ftay, what news? why com'ft thou in fuch poft?
Gab. The Queen, with all the northern Earls and Lords,
Intend here to besiege you in your caftle.

She is hard by, with twenty thousand men;
And therefore fortify your hold, my Lord.

York. Ay, with my fword. What! think't thou, that we fear them?

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
My brother Montague fhall poft to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the reft,
Whom we have left Protectors of the King,
With powerful policy ftrengthen themselves,
And truft not simple Henry nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not.
And thus most humbly I do take

my

leave.

[Exit Montague.

Enter Sir John Mortimer, and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen means to befiege us.

Sir John. She fhall not need, we'll meet her in the field. York. What, with five thousand men ?

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's General; what fhould we fear?

[A March afar off.

Edav. I hear their drums: let's fet our men in order,

And iffue forth and bid them battle ftrait.

York. Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.

Now these five characteristicks answer to Lord Say's description of them in the preceding play.

Kent, in the commentaries Cæfar writ,
Is term'd the civil ft place in all this ifle;
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy.

Many

Many a battle have I won in France,

When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
Why should I not now have the like fuccefs?

[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE, a Field of Battle betwixt SandalCastle and Wakefield.

Rut.

A

Enter Rutland and his Tutor.

H, whither fhall I fly, to 'fcape their hands?
Ah, tutor, look, where bloody Clifford comes.

Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood faves thy life; As for the brat of this accurfed Duke,

Whofe father flew my father, he shall die.

Tutor. And I, my Lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce. Tutor. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Left thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit, dragg'd off. Clif. How now? is he dead already or, is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And fo he walks infulting o'er his prey, And fo he comes to rend his limbs afunder. Ah gentle Clifford, kill me with thy fword, And not with fuch a cruel threatning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me fpeak before I die: I am too mean a fubject of thy wrath, Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Cliff. In vain thou speak'it, poor boy; my father's blood
Hath ftopt the paffage where thy words fhould enter.
Rut. Then let my father's blood open't again :
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge fufficient for me:

No, if I digg'd up thy forefather's graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

It

It could not flake mine ire, nor eafe my heart.
The fight of any of the houfe of York
Is as a fury to torment my foul:

And till I root out their accurfed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore

Rut. O let me pray, before I take my
To thee I pray-fweet Clifford, pity me.

death:

Clif. Such pity, as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou flay me
Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one fon, for his fake pity me;

Left, in revenge thereof, (fith God is just)
He be as miferably flain as I.

Ah, let me live in prifon all my days,
And when I give occafion of offence,

Then let me die, for now thou haft no caufe.
Clif. No caufe!

Thy father flew my father, therefore die.

[Clif. ftabs him.

Rut. Dii faciant, laudis fumma fit ifta tua! (6) [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet!

And this thy fon's blood cleaving to my blade

Shall ruft upon my weapon, till thy blood,

Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York.

York. The army of the Queen hath got the field: My uncles both are flain in refcuing me,

And all my followers to the eager foe

Turn back, and fly like fhips before the wind,
Or lambs purfu'd by hunger-starved wolves.

My fons, God knows, what hath bechanced them:
But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,

(6) Dii faciant, laudis, &c.] This is the 66th verfe of Phillis her epiftle to Demopboon, in Ovid. It is a fignal inftance, I think, that the author knew perfectly well how to apply his Latin.

And

And thrice cry'd, Courage, father! fight it out:
And full as oft came Edward to my fide,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of thofe, that had encounter'd him :
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, Charge! and give no foot of ground;
And cry'd, a crown, or else a glorious tomb,
A fcepter or an earthly fepulcher.

With this we charg'd again; but out! alas,
We bodg'd again; as I have feen a swan
With bootlefs labour fwim against the tide,
And spend her ftrength with over-matching waves.
[Abort alarum within.

Ah! hark, the fatal followers do purfue,
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury,
And were I ftrong, I would not shun their fury.
The fands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the Prince of Wales, and Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
I am your butt, and I abide your fhot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to fuch mercy as his ruthless arm
With downright payment fhew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick.

York. My afhes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heav'n,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not? what! multitudes and fear?

Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no farther; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So defp'rate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;

And,

1

And, if thou canft for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that flanders him with cowardife,
Whose frown hath made thee faint, and fly ere this.

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows twice two for one. (7)
Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand caufes
I would prolong a while the traitor's life:

Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might fpurn him with his foot away ?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;

And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

Clif. Ay, ay, fo ftrives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney ftruggle in the net.

[In the fruggle York is taken Prifoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers fo o'ermatch'd.

North. What would your Grace have done unto him now? Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come make him ftand upon this mole-hill here; That raught at mountains with out-ftretched arms, Yet parted but the fhadow with his hand.

(7) And buckler with thee blows twice two for one.] This is the reading of all the impreffions, from the firft folio downwards. But, to buckler, is to defend; which certainly is not Clifford's meaning here: And in that fenfe we have the word afterwards in this very Play;

Can Oxford that did ever fence the right,

Now buckler falfhood with a pedigree?

Mr. Pope, who pretends to have collated the old quarto, might have obferv'd the reading is there, as I have reflor'd it to the text, buckle i. e. cope, ftruggle with. So before, in 1 Henry VI.

In fingle combat thou thalt buckle with me.

And again;

-

-All our general force

Might, with a fally of the very town,

Be buckled with.

And again;

And hell too ftrong for me to buckle with.

What!