The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: p1r - Histories, p. 153

Left Column


The third Part of King Henry the Sixt. Might in the ground be closed vp in rest:
[675]
For neuer henceforth shall I ioy againe: Neuer, oh neuer shall I see more ioy.
Rich. I cannot weepe: for all my bodies moysture Scarse serues to quench my Furnace‑burning hart: Nor can my tongue vnloade my hearts great burthen,
[680]
For selfe‑same winde that I would speake withall, Is kindling coales that fires all my brest, And burnes me vp with flames, that tears would quench, To weepe, is to make lesse the depth of greefe: Teares then for Babes; Blowes, and Reuenge for mee.
[685]
Richard, I beare thy name, Ile venge thy death, Or dye renowned by attempting it.
Ed. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee: His Dukedome, and his Chaire with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that Princely Eagles Bird,
[690]
Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the Sunne: For Chaire and Dukedome, Throne and Kingdome say, Either that is thine, or else thou wer't not his.
March. Enter Warwicke, Marquesse Mountacute, and their Army. Warwick. How now faire Lords? What faire? What newes abroad? Rich. Great Lord of Warwicke, if we should recompt
[695]
Our balefull newes, and at each words deliuerance Stab Poniards in our flesh, till all were told, The words would adde more anguish then the wounds. O valiant Lord, the Duke of Yorke is slaine.
Edw. O Warwicke, Warwicke, that Plantagenet
[700]
Which held thee deerely, as his Soules Redemption, Is by the sterne Lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten dayes ago, I drown'd these newes in teares. And now to adde more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befalne.
[705]
After the bloody Fray at Wakefield fought, Where your braue Father breath'd his latest gaspe, Tydings, as swiftly as the Postes could runne, Were brought me of your Losse, and his Depart. I then in London, keeper of the King,
[710]
Muster'd my Soldiers, gathered flockes of Friends, Marcht toward S. Saint Albons, to intercept the Queene, Bearing the King in my behalfe along: For by my Scouts, I was aduertised That she was comming with a full intent
[715]
To dash our late Decree in Parliament, Touching King Henries Oath, and your Succession: Short Tale to make, we at S. Saint Albons met, Our Battailes ioyn'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldnesse of the King,
[720]
Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queene, That robb'd my Soldiers of their heated Spleene. Or whether 'twas report of her successe, Or more then common feare of Cliffords Rigour, Who thunders to his Captiues, Blood and Death,
[725]
I cannot iudge: but to conclude with truth, Their Weapons like to Lightning, came and went: Our Souldiers like the Night‑Owles lazie flight, Or like a lazie Thresher with a Flaile, Fell gently downe, as if they strucke their Friends.
[730]
I cheer'd them vp with iustice of our Cause, With promise of high pay, and great Rewards: But all in vaine, they had no heart to fight, And we (in them) no hope to win the day, So that we fled: the King vnto the Queene,
[735]
Lord George, your Brother, Norfolke, and my Selfe,

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[full image]

Right Column


In haste, post haste, are come to ioyne with you: For in the Marches heere we heard you were, Making another Head, to fight againe. Ed. Where is the Duke of Norfolke, gentle Warwick?
[740]
And when came George from Burgundy to England?
War. Some six miles off the Duke is with the Soldiers, And for your Brother be was lately sent From your kinde Aunt Dutchesse of Burgundie, With ayde of Souldiers to this needfull Warre. Rich.
[745]
'Twas oddes belike, when valiant Warwick fled; Oft haue I heard his praises in Pursuite, But ne're till now, his Scandall of Retire.
War. Nor now my Scandall Richard, dost thou heare: For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine,
[750]
Can plucke the Diadem from faint Henries head, And wring the awefull Scepter from his Fist, Were he as famous, and as bold in Warre, As he is fam'd for Mildnesse, Peace, and Prayer.
Rich. I know it well Lord Warwick, blame me not,
[755]
'Tis loue I beare thy glories make me speake: But in this troublous time, what's to be done ? Shall we go throw away our Coates of Steele, And wrap our bodies in blacke mourning Gownes, Numb'ring our Aue‑Maries with our Beads?
[760]
Or shall we on the Helmets of our Foes Tell our Deuotion with reuengefull Armes? If for the last, say I, and to it Lords.
War. Why therefore Warwick came to seek you out, And therefore comes my Brother Mountague:
[765]
Attend me Lords, the proud insulting Queene, With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, And of their Feather, many moe proud Birds, Haue wrought the easie‑melting King, like Wax. He swore consent to your Succession,
[770]
His Oath enrolled in the Parliament. And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his Oath, and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power (I thinke) is thirty thousand strong:
[775]
Now, if the helpe of Norfolke, and my selfe, With all the Friends that thou braue Earle of March, Among'st the louing Welshmen can'st procure, Will but amount to fiue and twenty thousand, Why Via, to London will we march,
[780]
And once againe, bestride our foaming Steeds, And once againe cry Charge vpon our Foes, But neuer once againe turne backe and flye.
Rich. I, now me thinks I heare great Warwick speak; Ne're may he liue to see a Sun‑shine day,
[785]
That cries Retire, if Warwicke bid him stay.
Ed. Lord Warwicke, on thy shoulder will I leane, And when thou failst (as God forbid the houre) Must Edward fall, which perill heauen forefend. War. No longer Earle of March, but Duke of Yorke:
[790]
The next degree, is Englands Royall Throne: For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In euery Burrough as we passe along, And he that throwes not vp his cap for ioy, Shall for the Fault make forfeit of his head.
[795]
King Edward, valiant Richard Mountague: Stay we no longer, dreaming of Renowne, But sound the Trumpets, and about our Taske.
Rich. Then Clifford, were thy heart as hard as Steele, As thou hast shewne it flintie by thy deeds,
[800]
I come to pierce it, or to giue thee mine.
Ed. Then strike vp Drums, God and S. Saint George for vs. p War.

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[Act 2, Scene 1] A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power. Edward. I wonder how our Princely Father scap't: Or whether he be scap't away, or no, From Cliffords and Northumberlands pursuit?
[600]
Had he been ta'ne, we should haue heard the newes; Had he beene slaine, we should haue heard the newes: Or had he scap't, me thinkes we should haue heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my Brother? why is he so sad?
Richard.
[605]
I cannot ioy, vntill I be resolu'd Where our right valiant Father is become. I saw him in the Battaile range about, And watcht him how he fingled Clifford forth. Me thought he bore him in the thickest troupe,
[610]
As doth a Lyon in a Heard of Neat, Or as a Beare encompass'd round with Dogges: Who hauing pincht a few, and made them cry, The rest stand all aloofe, and barke at him. So far'd our Father with his Enemies,
[615]
So fled his Enemies my Warlike Father: Me thinkes 'tis prize enough to be his Sonne. See how the Morning opes her golden Gates, And takes her farwell of the glorious Sunne. How well resembles it the prime of Youth,
[620]
Trimm'd like a Yonker, prauncing to his Loue?
Ed. Dazle mine eyes, or doe I see three Sunnes? Rich. Three glorious Sunnes, each one a perfect Sunne, Not seperated with the racking Clouds, But seuer'd in a pale cleare‑shining Skye.
[625]
See, see, they ioyne, embrace, and seeme to kisse, As if they vow'd some League inuiolable. Now are they but one Lampe, one Light, one Sunne: In this, the Heauen figures some euent.
Edward. 'Tis wondrous strange,
[630]
The like yet neuer heard of. I thinke it cites vs (Brother) to the field, That wee, the Sonnes of braue Plantagenet, Each one alreadie blazing by our meedes, Should notwithstanding ioyne our Lights together,
[635]
And ouer‑shine the Earth, as this the World. What ere it bodes, hence‑forward will I beare Vpon my Targuet three faire shining Sunnes.
Richard. Nay, beare three Daughters: By your leaue, I speake it,
[640]
You loue the Breeder better then the Male. Enter one blowing. But what art thou, whose heauie Lookes fore‑tell Some dreadfull story hanging on thy Tongue?
Mess. Ah, one that was a wofull looker on, When as the Noble Duke of Yorke was slaine,
[645]
Your Princely Father, and my louing Lord.
Edward. Oh speake no more, for I haue heard too much. Richard. Say how he dy'de, for I will heare it all. Mess. Enuironed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
[650]
Against the Greekes, that would haue entred Troy. But Hercules himselfe must yeeld to oddes: And many stroakes, though with a little Axe, Hewes downe and fells the hardest‑tymber'd Oake. By many hands your Father was subdu'd,
[655]
But onely slaught'red by the irefull Arme Of vn‑relenting Clifford, and the Queene: Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despight, Laugh'd in his face: and when with griefe he wept, The ruthlesse Queene gaue him, to dry his Cheekes,
[660]
A Napkin, steeped in the harmelesse blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slaine: And after many scornes, many foule taunts, They tooke his Head, and on the Gates of Yorke They set the same, and there it doth remaine,
[665]
The saddest spectacle that ere I view'd.
Edward. Sweet Duke of Yorke, our Prop to leane vpon, Now thou art gone, wee haue no Staffe, no Stay. Oh Clifford, boyst'rous Clifford, thou hast slaine The flowre of Europe, for his Cheualrie,
[670]
And trecherously hast thou vanquisht him, For hand to hand he would haue vanquisht thee. Now my Soules Pallace is become a Prison: Ah, would she breake from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed vp in rest:
[675]
For neuer henceforth shall I ioy againe: Neuer, oh neuer shall I see more ioy.
Rich. I cannot weepe: for all my bodies moysture Scarse serues to quench my Furnace‑burning hart: Nor can my tongue vnloade my hearts great burthen,
[680]
For selfe‑same winde that I would speake withall, Is kindling coales that fires all my brest, And burnes me vp with flames, that tears would quench, To weepe, is to make lesse the depth of greefe: Teares then for Babes; Blowes, and Reuenge for mee.
[685]
Richard, I beare thy name, Ile venge thy death, Or dye renowned by attempting it.
Ed. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee: His Dukedome, and his Chaire with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that Princely Eagles Bird,
[690]
Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the Sunne: For Chaire and Dukedome, Throne and Kingdome say, Either that is thine, or else thou wer't not his.
March. Enter Warwicke, Marquesse Mountacute, and their Army. Warwick. How now faire Lords? What faire? What newes abroad? Rich. Great Lord of Warwicke, if we should recompt
[695]
Our balefull newes, and at each words deliuerance Stab Poniards in our flesh, till all were told, The words would adde more anguish then the wounds. O valiant Lord, the Duke of Yorke is slaine.
Edw. O Warwicke, Warwicke, that Plantagenet
[700]
Which held thee deerely, as his Soules Redemption, Is by the sterne Lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten dayes ago, I drown'd these newes in teares. And now to adde more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befalne.
[705]
After the bloody Fray at Wakefield fought, Where your braue Father breath'd his latest gaspe, Tydings, as swiftly as the Postes could runne, Were brought me of your Losse, and his Depart. I then in London, keeper of the King,
[710]
Muster'd my Soldiers, gathered flockes of Friends, Marcht toward S. Saint Albons, to intercept the Queene, Bearing the King in my behalfe along: For by my Scouts, I was aduertised That she was comming with a full intent
[715]
To dash our late Decree in Parliament, Touching King Henries Oath, and your Succession: Short Tale to make, we at S. Saint Albons met, Our Battailes ioyn'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldnesse of the King,
[720]
Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queene, That robb'd my Soldiers of their heated Spleene. Or whether 'twas report of her successe, Or more then common feare of Cliffords Rigour, Who thunders to his Captiues, Blood and Death,
[725]
I cannot iudge: but to conclude with truth, Their Weapons like to Lightning, came and went: Our Souldiers like the Night‑Owles lazie flight, Or like a lazie Thresher with a Flaile, Fell gently downe, as if they strucke their Friends.
[730]
I cheer'd them vp with iustice of our Cause, With promise of high pay, and great Rewards: But all in vaine, they had no heart to fight, And we (in them) no hope to win the day, So that we fled: the King vnto the Queene,
[735]
Lord George, your Brother, Norfolke, and my Selfe, In haste, post haste, are come to ioyne with you: For in the Marches heere we heard you were, Making another Head, to fight againe.
Ed. Where is the Duke of Norfolke, gentle Warwick?
[740]
And when came George from Burgundy to England?
War. Some six miles off the Duke is with the Soldiers, And for your Brother be was lately sent From your kinde Aunt Dutchesse of Burgundie, With ayde of Souldiers to this needfull Warre. Rich.
[745]
'Twas oddes belike, when valiant Warwick fled; Oft haue I heard his praises in Pursuite, But ne're till now, his Scandall of Retire.
War. Nor now my Scandall Richard, dost thou heare: For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine,
[750]
Can plucke the Diadem from faint Henries head, And wring the awefull Scepter from his Fist, Were he as famous, and as bold in Warre, As he is fam'd for Mildnesse, Peace, and Prayer.
Rich. I know it well Lord Warwick, blame me not,
[755]
'Tis loue I beare thy glories make me speake: But in this troublous time, what's to be done ? Shall we go throw away our Coates of Steele, And wrap our bodies in blacke mourning Gownes, Numb'ring our Aue‑Maries with our Beads?
[760]
Or shall we on the Helmets of our Foes Tell our Deuotion with reuengefull Armes? If for the last, say I, and to it Lords.
War. Why therefore Warwick came to seek you out, And therefore comes my Brother Mountague:
[765]
Attend me Lords, the proud insulting Queene, With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, And of their Feather, many moe proud Birds, Haue wrought the easie‑melting King, like Wax. He swore consent to your Succession,
[770]
His Oath enrolled in the Parliament. And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his Oath, and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power (I thinke) is thirty thousand strong:
[775]
Now, if the helpe of Norfolke, and my selfe, With all the Friends that thou braue Earle of March, Among'st the louing Welshmen can'st procure, Will but amount to fiue and twenty thousand, Why Via, to London will we march,
[780]
And once againe, bestride our foaming Steeds, And once againe cry Charge vpon our Foes, But neuer once againe turne backe and flye.
Rich. I, now me thinks I heare great Warwick speak; Ne're may he liue to see a Sun‑shine day,
[785]
That cries Retire, if Warwicke bid him stay.
Ed. Lord Warwicke, on thy shoulder will I leane, And when thou failst (as God forbid the houre) Must Edward fall, which perill heauen forefend. War. No longer Earle of March, but Duke of Yorke:
[790]
The next degree, is Englands Royall Throne: For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In euery Burrough as we passe along, And he that throwes not vp his cap for ioy, Shall for the Fault make forfeit of his head.
[795]
King Edward, valiant Richard Mountague: Stay we no longer, dreaming of Renowne, But sound the Trumpets, and about our Taske.
Rich. Then Clifford, were thy heart as hard as Steele, As thou hast shewne it flintie by thy deeds,
[800]
I come to pierce it, or to giue thee mine.
Ed. Then strike vp Drums, God and S. Saint George for vs. Enter a Messenger. War. How now? what newes? Mes. The Duke of Norfolke sends you word by me, The Queene is comming with a puissant Hoast,
[805]
And craues your company, for speedy counsell.
War. Why then it sorts, braue Warriors, let's away. Exeunt Omnes.
 

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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<div type="scene" n="1" rend="notPresent">
   <head type="supplied">[Act 2, Scene 1]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="mixed">A March. Enter Edward, Richard,
      <lb/>and their power.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edward.</speaker>
      <l n="597">I wonder how our Princely Father scap't:</l>
      <l n="598">Or whether he be scap't away, or no,</l>
      <l n="599">From<hi rend="italic">Cliffords</hi>and<hi rend="italic">Northumberlands</hi>pursuit?</l>
      <l n="600">Had he been ta'ne, we should haue heard the newes;</l>
      <l n="601">Had he beene slaine, we should haue heard the newes:</l>
      <l n="602">Or had he scap't, me thinkes we should haue heard</l>
      <l n="603">The happy tidings of his good escape.</l>
      <l n="604">How fares my Brother? why is he so sad?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Richard.</speaker>
      <l n="605">I cannot ioy, vntill I be resolu'd</l>
      <l n="606">Where our right valiant Father is become.</l>
      <l n="607">I saw him in the Battaile range about,</l>
      <l n="608">And watcht him how he fingled<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>forth.</l>
      <l n="609">Me thought he bore him in the thickest troupe,</l>
      <l n="610">As doth a Lyon in a Heard of Neat,</l>
      <l n="611">Or as a Beare encompass'd round with Dogges:</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="612">Who hauing pincht a few, and made them cry,</l>
      <l n="613">The rest stand all aloofe, and barke at him.</l>
      <l n="614">So far'd our Father with his Enemies,</l>
      <l n="615">So fled his Enemies my Warlike Father:</l>
      <l n="616">Me thinkes 'tis prize enough to be his Sonne.</l>
      <l n="617">See how the Morning opes her golden Gates,</l>
      <l n="618">And takes her farwell of the glorious Sunne.</l>
      <l n="619">How well resembles it the prime of Youth,</l>
      <l n="620">Trimm'd like a Yonker, prauncing to his Loue?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="621">Dazle mine eyes, or doe I see three Sunnes?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="622">Three glorious Sunnes, each one a perfect Sunne,</l>
      <l n="623">Not seperated with the racking Clouds,</l>
      <l n="624">But seuer'd in a pale cleare‑shining Skye.</l>
      <l n="625">See, see, they ioyne, embrace, and seeme to kisse,</l>
      <l n="626">As if they vow'd some League inuiolable.</l>
      <l n="627">Now are they but one Lampe, one Light, one Sunne:</l>
      <l n="628">In this, the Heauen figures some euent.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edward.</speaker>
      <l n="629">'Tis wondrous strange,</l>
      <l n="630">The like yet neuer heard of.</l>
      <l n="631">I thinke it cites vs (Brother) to the field,</l>
      <l n="632">That wee, the Sonnes of braue<hi rend="italic">Plantagenet</hi>,</l>
      <l n="633">Each one alreadie blazing by our meedes,</l>
      <l n="634">Should notwithstanding ioyne our Lights together,</l>
      <l n="635">And ouer‑shine the Earth, as this the World.</l>
      <l n="636">What ere it bodes, hence‑forward will I beare</l>
      <l n="637">Vpon my Targuet three faire shining Sunnes.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Richard.</speaker>
      <l n="638">Nay, beare three Daughters:</l>
      <l n="639">By your leaue, I speake it,</l>
      <l n="640">You loue the Breeder better then the Male.</l>
      <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter one blowing.</stage>
      <l n="641">But what art thou, whose heauie Lookes fore‑tell</l>
      <l n="642">Some dreadfull story hanging on thy Tongue?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-mes">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mess.</speaker>
      <l n="643">Ah, one that was a wofull looker on,</l>
      <l n="644">When as the Noble Duke of Yorke was slaine,</l>
      <l n="645">Your Princely Father, and my louing Lord.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edward.</speaker>
      <l n="646">Oh speake no more, for I haue heard too
      <lb/>much.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Richard.</speaker>
      <l n="647">Say how he dy'de, for I will heare it all.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-mes">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mess.</speaker>
      <l n="648">Enuironed he was with many foes,</l>
      <l n="649">And stood against them, as the hope of Troy</l>
      <l n="650">Against the Greekes, that would haue entred Troy.</l>
      <l n="651">But<hi rend="italic">Hercules</hi>himselfe must yeeld to oddes:</l>
      <l n="652">And many stroakes, though with a little Axe,</l>
      <l n="653">Hewes downe and fells the hardest‑tymber'd Oake.</l>
      <l n="654">By many hands your Father was subdu'd,</l>
      <l n="655">But onely slaught'red by the irefull Arme</l>
      <l n="656">Of vn‑relenting<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, and the Queene:</l>
      <l n="657">Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despight,</l>
      <l n="658">Laugh'd in his face: and when with griefe he wept,</l>
      <l n="659">The ruthlesse Queene gaue him, to dry his Cheekes,</l>
      <l n="660">A Napkin, steeped in the harmelesse blood</l>
      <l n="661">Of sweet young<hi rend="italic">Rutland</hi>, by rough<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>slaine:</l>
      <l n="662">And after many scornes, many foule taunts,</l>
      <l n="663">They tooke his Head, and on the Gates of Yorke</l>
      <l n="664">They set the same, and there it doth remaine,</l>
      <l n="665">The saddest spectacle that ere I view'd.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edward.</speaker>
      <l n="666">Sweet Duke of Yorke, our Prop to leane vpon,</l>
      <l n="667">Now thou art gone, wee haue no Staffe, no Stay.</l>
      <l n="668">Oh<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, boyst'rous<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, thou hast slaine</l>
      <l n="669">The flowre of Europe, for his Cheualrie,</l>
      <l n="670">And trecherously hast thou vanquisht him,</l>
      <l n="671">For hand to hand he would haue vanquisht thee.</l>
      <l n="672">Now my Soules Pallace is become a Prison:</l>
      <l n="673">Ah, would she breake from hence, that this my body</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0509-0.jpg" n="153"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="674">Might in the ground be closed vp in rest:</l>
      <l n="675">For neuer henceforth shall I ioy againe:</l>
      <l n="676">Neuer, oh neuer shall I see more ioy.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="677">I cannot weepe: for all my bodies moysture</l>
      <l n="678">Scarse serues to quench my Furnace‑burning hart:</l>
      <l n="679">Nor can my tongue vnloade my hearts great burthen,</l>
      <l n="680">For selfe‑same winde that I would speake withall,</l>
      <l n="681">Is kindling coales that fires all my brest,</l>
      <l n="682">And burnes me vp with flames, that tears would quench,</l>
      <l n="683">To weepe, is to make lesse the depth of greefe:</l>
      <l n="684">Teares then for Babes; Blowes, and Reuenge for mee.</l>
      <l n="685">
         <hi rend="italic">Richard</hi>, I beare thy name, Ile venge thy death,</l>
      <l n="686">Or dye renowned by attempting it.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="687">His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee:</l>
      <l n="688">His Dukedome, and his Chaire with me is left.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="689">Nay, if thou be that Princely Eagles Bird,</l>
      <l n="690">Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the Sunne:</l>
      <l n="691">For Chaire and Dukedome, Throne and Kingdome say,</l>
      <l n="692">Either that is thine, or else thou wer't not his.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">March. Enter Warwicke, Marquesse Mountacute,
      <lb/>and their Army.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">Warwick.</speaker>
      <l n="693">How now faire Lords? What faire? What
      <lb/>newes abroad?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="694">Great Lord of Warwicke, if we should recompt</l>
      <l n="695">Our balefull newes, and at each words deliuerance</l>
      <l n="696">Stab Poniards in our flesh, till all were told,</l>
      <l n="697">The words would adde more anguish then the wounds.</l>
      <l n="698">O valiant Lord, the Duke of Yorke is slaine.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Edw.</speaker>
      <l n="699">O Warwicke, Warwicke, that<hi rend="italic">Plantagenet</hi>
      </l>
      <l n="700">Which held thee deerely, as his Soules Redemption,</l>
      <l n="701">Is by the sterne Lord<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>done to death.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="702">Ten dayes ago, I drown'd these newes in teares.</l>
      <l n="703">And now to adde more measure to your woes,</l>
      <l n="704">I come to tell you things sith then befalne.</l>
      <l n="705">After the bloody Fray at Wakefield fought,</l>
      <l n="706">Where your braue Father breath'd his latest gaspe,</l>
      <l n="707">Tydings, as swiftly as the Postes could runne,</l>
      <l n="708">Were brought me of your Losse, and his Depart.</l>
      <l n="709">I then in London, keeper of the King,</l>
      <l n="710">Muster'd my Soldiers, gathered flockes of Friends,</l>
      <l n="711">Marcht toward<choice>
            <abbr>S.</abbr>
            <expan>Saint</expan>
         </choice>Albons, to intercept the Queene,</l>
      <l n="712">Bearing the King in my behalfe along:</l>
      <l n="713">For by my Scouts, I was aduertised</l>
      <l n="714">That she was comming with a full intent</l>
      <l n="715">To dash our late Decree in Parliament,</l>
      <l n="716">Touching King<hi rend="italic">Henries</hi>Oath, and your Succession:</l>
      <l n="717">Short Tale to make, we at<choice>
            <abbr>S.</abbr>
            <expan>Saint</expan>
         </choice>Albons met,</l>
      <l n="718">Our Battailes ioyn'd, and both sides fiercely fought:</l>
      <l n="719">But whether 'twas the coldnesse of the King,</l>
      <l n="720">Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queene,</l>
      <l n="721">That robb'd my Soldiers of their heated Spleene.</l>
      <l n="722">Or whether 'twas report of her successe,</l>
      <l n="723">Or more then common feare of<hi rend="italic">Cliffords</hi>Rigour,</l>
      <l n="724">Who thunders to his Captiues, Blood and Death,</l>
      <l n="725">I cannot iudge: but to conclude with truth,</l>
      <l n="726">Their Weapons like to Lightning, came and went:</l>
      <l n="727">Our Souldiers like the Night‑Owles lazie flight,</l>
      <l n="728">Or like a lazie Thresher with a Flaile,</l>
      <l n="729">Fell gently downe, as if they strucke their Friends.</l>
      <l n="730">I cheer'd them vp with iustice of our Cause,</l>
      <l n="731">With promise of high pay, and great Rewards:</l>
      <l n="732">But all in vaine, they had no heart to fight,</l>
      <l n="733">And we (in them) no hope to win the day,</l>
      <l n="734">So that we fled: the King vnto the Queene,</l>
      <l n="735">Lord<hi rend="italic">George</hi>, your Brother, Norfolke, and my Selfe,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="736">In haste, post haste, are come to ioyne with you:</l>
      <l n="737">For in the Marches heere we heard you were,</l>
      <l n="738">Making another Head, to fight againe.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="739">Where is the Duke of Norfolke, gentle Warwick?</l>
      <l n="740">And when came<hi rend="italic">George</hi>from Burgundy to England?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="741">Some six miles off the Duke is with the Soldiers,</l>
      <l n="742">And for your Brother be was lately sent</l>
      <l n="743">From your kinde Aunt Dutchesse of Burgundie,</l>
      <l n="744">With ayde of Souldiers to this needfull Warre.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="745">'Twas oddes belike, when valiant Warwick fled;</l>
      <l n="746">Oft haue I heard his praises in Pursuite,</l>
      <l n="747">But ne're till now, his Scandall of Retire.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="748">Nor now my Scandall<hi rend="italic">Richard</hi>, dost thou heare:</l>
      <l n="749">For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine,</l>
      <l n="750">Can plucke the Diadem from faint<hi rend="italic">Henries</hi>head,</l>
      <l n="751">And wring the awefull Scepter from his Fist,</l>
      <l n="752">Were he as famous, and as bold in Warre,</l>
      <l n="753">As he is fam'd for Mildnesse, Peace, and Prayer.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="754">I know it well Lord Warwick, blame me not,</l>
      <l n="755">'Tis loue I beare thy glories make me speake:</l>
      <l n="756">But in this troublous time, what's to be done<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="757">Shall we go throw away our Coates of Steele,</l>
      <l n="758">And wrap our bodies in blacke mourning Gownes,</l>
      <l n="759">Numb'ring our Aue‑Maries with our Beads?</l>
      <l n="760">Or shall we on the Helmets of our Foes</l>
      <l n="761">Tell our Deuotion with reuengefull Armes?</l>
      <l n="762">If for the last, say I, and to it Lords.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="763">Why therefore Warwick came to seek you out,</l>
      <l n="764">And therefore comes my Brother<hi rend="italic">Mountague</hi>:</l>
      <l n="765">Attend me Lords, the proud insulting Queene,</l>
      <l n="766">With<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, and the haught Northumberland,</l>
      <l n="767">And of their Feather, many moe proud Birds,</l>
      <l n="768">Haue wrought the easie‑melting King, like Wax.</l>
      <l n="769">He swore consent to your Succession,</l>
      <l n="770">His Oath enrolled in the Parliament.</l>
      <l n="771">And now to London all the crew are gone,</l>
      <l n="772">To frustrate both his Oath, and what beside</l>
      <l n="773">May make against the house of Lancaster.</l>
      <l n="774">Their power (I thinke) is thirty thousand strong:</l>
      <l n="775">Now, if the helpe of Norfolke, and my selfe,</l>
      <l n="776">With all the Friends that thou braue Earle of March,</l>
      <l n="777">Among'st the louing Welshmen can'st procure,</l>
      <l n="778">Will but amount to fiue and twenty thousand,</l>
      <l n="779">Why Via, to London will we march,</l>
      <l n="780">And once againe, bestride our foaming Steeds,</l>
      <l n="781">And once againe cry Charge vpon our Foes,</l>
      <l n="782">But neuer once againe turne backe and flye.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="783">I, now me thinks I heare great Warwick speak;</l>
      <l n="784">Ne're may he liue to see a Sun‑shine day,</l>
      <l n="785">That cries Retire, if Warwicke bid him stay.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="786">Lord Warwicke, on thy shoulder will I leane,</l>
      <l n="787">And when thou failst (as God forbid the houre)</l>
      <l n="788">Must<hi rend="italic">Edward</hi>fall, which perill heauen forefend.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="789">No longer Earle of March, but Duke of Yorke:</l>
      <l n="790">The next degree, is Englands Royall Throne:</l>
      <l n="791">For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd</l>
      <l n="792">In euery Burrough as we passe along,</l>
      <l n="793">And he that throwes not vp his cap for ioy,</l>
      <l n="794">Shall for the Fault make forfeit of his head.</l>
      <l n="795">King<hi rend="italic">Edward</hi>, valiant<hi rend="italic">Richard Mountague</hi>:</l>
      <l n="796">Stay we no longer, dreaming of Renowne,</l>
      <l n="797">But sound the Trumpets, and about our Taske.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ri3">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rich.</speaker>
      <l n="798">Then<hi rend="italic">Clifford</hi>, were thy heart as hard as Steele,</l>
      <l n="799">As thou hast shewne it flintie by thy deeds,</l>
      <l n="800">I come to pierce it, or to giue thee mine.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-ed4">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ed.</speaker>
      <l n="801">Then strike vp Drums, God and<choice>
            <abbr>S.</abbr>
            <expan>Saint</expan>
         </choice>George for vs.</l>
   </sp>
   <pb facs="FFimg:axc0510-0.jpg" n="154"/>
   <cb n="1"/>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter a Messenger.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="802">How now? what newes?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-mes">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mes.</speaker>
      <l n="803">The Duke of Norfolke sends you word by me,</l>
      <l n="804">The Queene is comming with a puissant Hoast,</l>
      <l n="805">And craues your company, for speedy counsell.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-3h6-war">
      <speaker rend="italic">War.</speaker>
      <l n="806">Why then it sorts, braue Warriors, let's away.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt Omnes.</stage>
</div>

        
        

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