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AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY OF THE CIVIL WARS In the REIGN of King HENRY VI.

(Being a Sequel to the TRAGEDY of HUMFREY Duke of GLOUCESTER: And an Introduction to the TRAGICAL HISTORY of King RICHARD III.)

Alter'd from SHAKESPEAR, in the Year 1720.

By THEO. CIBBER.

Heu! quantum potuit caeli pelagique parari,

Hoc quem Civiles fuderunt ſanguine dextrae!

LUCAN.

LONDON: Printed for J. WALTHOE, jun. in Cornhill; W. CHETWOOD, in Ruſſel-Street, Covent-Garden; and J. STAGG, in Weſt⯑minſter-Hall: And Sold by J. ROBERTS, in Warwick-Lane. Price 1s. 6d.

PREFACE.

[]

THIS Piece was finiſh'd above Two Years ago, and put into my Hands, to make what Uſe of it I thought fit. And tho' it coſt our Author but the Labour of a ſingle Month, or leſs, yet, upon this Occaſion, I can't but think the pub⯑liſhing it will oblige the World, ſince it is a Sequel to Mr. Philips 's Play of Duke Humfrey, and an Introduction to Mr. Cibber's Alteration of Richard the Third. Never Child had a more regardleſs Fa⯑ther, than the Parent of this; and therefore rather than have it ſmother'd, I thought it a more Human Act to let it come upon the Pariſh. And, in my poor Opinion, I have ſeen a leſs promiſing Appearance than this Brat carries about him, riſe in the State.

But if, like Phaeton, in Shakeſpear's Carr,

Th' unequal Muſe unhappily ſhould Err,

At leaſt you'll own from glorious Heights he fell,

And there's ſome Merit in attempting well.

Prol. to XIMENA.

The PERSONS.

[]

King Henry,
Prince Edward,
Old Clifford,
Young Clifford,
York,
Edward,
George,
Richard,
Warwick.

Queen Margaret,
Lady Grey,
Lady Elizabeth,
Lady Anne.

Meſſengers, Attendants, &c.

[]The Hiſtorical Tragedy of King HENRY VI.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter King Henry.

K. Hen.

NEVER had King leſs Joy in Rule than I,

Nor more Misfortune; Heaven was pleas'd to ſet

My Cradle on the Top of humane Glory,

Where I lay helpleſs, to all Storms ex⯑pos'd;

My childiſh Hand, not able to ſupport

My Father's Sword, dropt the victorious Point,

And let fall all the Laurels that adorn'd it;

And French and Engliſh ravag'd for the Spoil.

So loſt I France; now am I threatned too

By wicked Rebels, with the Loſs of England:

Cade and Plantagenet joyn to undo me.

Never did Subject long to be a King,

As I do long, and wiſh to be a Subject.

Enter the Queen, attended.

Queen.

Health and good Tidings to your Majeſty;

The Villain Cade, is kill'd by brave young Clifford.

K. Hen.

Kill'd!

Queen.

He is kill'd, my Lord; and all his Powers do yield,

And wait your Highneſs Doom, of Life, or Death.

K. Hen.

[2]

Their Fault was great, 'tis true; but their Submiſſion

Now cancels that, and they ſhall meet my Mercy.

Therefore with pleaſing Pardon to them all,

I do diſmiſs 'em to their ſeveral Homes.

Queen.

Kings ſhould have Mercy, but with it Juſtice too.

K. Hen.

Juſt Heaven accept my Vows of Thanks and Praiſe,

For having ſav'd the Lives of my poor People.

I ſwear I am more pleas'd to ſee this End,

Without the Shedding my poor Subjects Blood,

Than I ſhould be to conquer the whole World

By Slaughter—but—Ha! old Clifford weeping.

Enter Old Clifford.

O. Cliff.

Yes, Sir, I weep; but I weep Tears of Joy;

For I am cruſh'd between Two mighty Joys,

Your Royal Safety, and my Son's Succeſs.

Enter Young Clifford, and kneels.

K. Hen.

O gallant Clifford! how ſhall I reward thee?

Y. Cliff.

I fought not for Rewards; or if I did,

I ought to end my Work e'er I be paid.

I have only now pull'd down a paltry Scaffold,

On which Plantagenet deſign'd to climb,

To build his trayt'rous Projects—Have you not heard

The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland;

And with a puiſſant and mighty Power,

Is marching hitherwards in proud Array.

K. Hen.

True, he approaches with a mighty Hoſt,

But he gives out, he only does intend

To drive away from me ſome wicked Miniſters.

Y. Cliff.

The conſtant Vizard of Rebellion.

Rebellion is ſo foul and grim a Monſter,

That thoſe who mount the horrid Beaſt are forc'd

To cover it all o'er with gawdy Trappings.

They mark it in the Forehead with white Stars,

Pretences heavenly.

Queen.

Believe me, Sir—he tells you nought but Truth.

K. Hen.

Thus ſtands my State, 'twixt Cade and York diſtreſt,

Like to a Ship, that having ſcap'd a Tempeſt

Is ſtraitway calm'd, and boarded with a Pirate.

I pray thee, old Clifford, go and meet him,

And ask him what's the Reaſon of theſe Arms.

O. Cliff.

[3]

I will, my Lord, and doubt not ſo to deal,

As all Things ſhall redound unto your Good.

K. Hen.

Come Wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;

For yet may England curſe my wretched Reign.

[Exeunt.

Enter York, Edward, George, Richard, and Soldiers.

York.

From Ireland thus comes York to claim his Right,

And pluck the Crown from feeble Henry's Head.

Oh holy Majeſty! who would not buy thee dear,

Let them obey that know not how to rule.

This Hand was made to handle nought but Gold.

I cannot give due Action to my Words,

Except a Sword or Sceptre ballance it.

A Scepter ſhall it have. Have I a Soul!

On which I'll toſs the Flower de Luce of France.

Enter Old Clifford.

Whom have we here? old Clifford to diſturb me?

The King hath ſent him ſure—I muſt diſſemble.

O. Cliff.

York, if thou meaneſt well, I greet thee well.

York.

Clifford of Cumberland, I accept thy Greeting.

Art thou a Meſſenger, or come of Pleaſure?

O. Cliff.

A Meſſenger from Henry our dread Liege,

To know the Reaſon of theſe Arms in Peace?

Or why, thou being a Subject, as I am,

Againſt thy Oath, and true Allegiance ſworn,

Should raiſe ſo great a Pow'r without his Leave;

Or dare to bring thy Force ſo near the Court?

York.

Scarce can I ſpeak, my Choler is ſo great.

Oh! I could hew up Rocks, and fight with Flint,

I am ſo angry at theſe abject Terms:

And now, like frantick Ajax,

On Sheep, or Oxen, could I ſpend my Fury.

I am far better born than is the King;

More like a King, more kingly in my Thoughts.

But I muſt make fair Weather yet a while,

Till Henry be more weak, and I more ſtrong.

[aſide.]

O Cumberland, I prithee pardon me,

That I have giv'n no Anſwer all this while.

My Mind was troubled with deep Melancholy,

The Cauſe why I have brought this Army hither,

Is to remove proud Somerſet from the King,

[4] Seditious to his Grace, and to the State.

O. Cliff.

That is too much Preſumption on thy Part.

But if thy Arms be to no other End,

The King hath yielded unto thy Demand:

The Duke of Somerſet is in the Tower.

York.

Upon thy Honour, Is he Priſoner?

O. Cliff.

Upon my Honour, he is Priſoner.

York.

Then, noble Clifford, I'll diſmiſs my Pow'rs,

And let my Sovereign, virtuous Henry,

Command my eldeſt Son; nay, all my Sons,

As Pledges of my Fealty and Love;

I'll ſend 'em all, as willing as I live.

Lands, Goods, Houſe, Armour, every Thing I have,

Is to his Uſe, ſo Somerſet may die.

O. Cliff.

York, I commend this kind Submiſſion;

And I am ſure 'twill glad King Henry's Heart,

Come, let us Two go friendly to the King.

Enter King Henry, attended.

K. Hen.

Clifford, doth York intend no Harm to us,

That thus he marches with thee Arm in Arm.

York.

In all Submiſſion and Humility,

York doth preſent himſelf unto your Highneſs.

K. Hen.

Then what intend theſe Forces thou doſt bring.

York.

To have the Traytor Somerſet from hence,

And fight againſt that monſtrous Rebel Cade;

Who ſince, I hear, is overcome and ſlain.

Enter the Queen, and Somerſet.

K. Hen.

See, old Clifford; Somerſet comes with the Queen;

Go bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.

Queen.

For thouſand Yorks he ſhall not hide his Head,

But boldly ſtand, and front him to his Face.

York.

How now? Is Somerſet at Liberty?

Then York unlooſe thy long impriſon'd Thoughts,

And let thy Tongue be equal with thy Heart.

Shall I endure the Sight of Somerſet?

Falſe King, why haſt thou broken Faith with me,

Knowing how hardly I can brook Abuſe?

King, did I call thee? no, thou art no King,

Nor fit to govern and rule Multitudes,

Who has not Power to rule a ſingle Traytor:

[5] That Head of thine doth not become a Crown;

Thy Hand is made to graſp a Palmer's Staff,

And not to grace an awful princely Scepter:

That Gold muſt round engirt theſe Brows of mine,

Whoſe Smile and Frown, like to Achilles's Spear,

Is able, with the Change, to kill and cure;

Here is a Hand to hold the Scepter up,

And, with the ſame, to act controuling Laws:

Give Place; by Heav'n thou ſhalt rule no more

O'er him, whom Heav'n created for thy Ruler.

Som.

O, monſtrous Traytor! I arreſt thee, York,

Of capital Treaſon 'gainſt the King and Crown.

York.

Somerſet, in whoſe Name do you arreſt me?

Som.

In the King's Name.

York.

Then I'll unfold my ſelf;

Know, hitherto I've been like a dark Cloud,

Where ſcorching Heat has been engendring Thunder;

The Grumbling and the Rowling you have heard,

And now the deadly Bolt ſhalt light among you:

I am your King.

K. Hen.

Ha!

York.

Yes, I am your King,

Sprung from the Royal Houſe of Clarence,

Whom three Uſurpers of the Houſe of Lancaſter,

Succeſſively, have trodden under Feet,

Whilſt they have glitter'd in our Royal Glory,

Shone like falſe Diamonds in our Purple Robes.

Enter young Clifford.

Y. Cliff.

Health and all Happineſs to my Lord the King.

York.

I thank thee, Clifford, ſay, What News with thee?

Nay, think not to fright me with an angry Look,

We are thy Sovereign, Clifford, kneel thee down,

For thy miſtaking ſo we pardon thee.

Y. Cliff.

This is my King, York, I do not miſtake,

But thou miſtakeſt much to think I do.

To Bedlam with him—Is the Man grown mad?

K. Hen.

Ay, Clifford, Frenzy and ambitious Humour

Make him oppoſe himſelf againſt his King!

Y. Cliff.

Did we not tell you this?

Edw.

And we will tell you more, obey your King,

I mean, my Royal Father, or our Swords

Shall turn the Arreſt of Treaſon on your ſelves.

O. Cliff.

[6]

Surely you think you are among your Beauties,

Amorous Edward, there your Valour lies.

Queen.

Let them admire thy Boaſts, here art thou ſcorn'd.

Edw.

'Tis ſaid, when the brave Duke of Suffolk liv'd,

Queen Margaret would not contemn a Lover;

I'm young, and love, but yet I am not ſtricken

So blind with Beauty, but I can diſcern

Both the fair Kingdom, and the fair Queen, lie

Sick of the Impotence of a weak King.

Queen.

Ill manner'd Inſolence!

Y. Cliff.

Why, what a brood of Traytors have we here?

York.

Look in a Glaſs, and call thy Image ſo;

I am thy King, and thou a falſe hearted Traytor.

I've declar'd my Right, and here are my three Sons

To plead it with their Swords. Now I'll produce

The Sword of the Victorious Earl of Warwick.

Call in the Earl.

Enter Warwick.

K. Hen.

Thou againſt me, Warwick!

Say, didſt thou never ſwear Allegiance to me,

And canſt diſpenſe with Heav'n for ſuch an Oath?

War.

It is great Sin to ſwear unto a Sin,

But greater Sin to keep a ſinful Oath:

Who can be bound by any ſolemn Vow,

To do a murderous Deed, to rob a Man,

To force a ſpotleſs Virgin's Chaſtity,

To 'reave the Orphan of his Patrimony,

And have no other Reaſon for his Wrong,

But that he was bound to't by ſolemn Oath?

Queen.

A ſubtle Traytor needs no Sophiſter.

War.

Cauſe I ador'd an Idol once, in Ignorance,

Muſt I ſtill do ſo, now I ſee my Error?

Know, Duke of Lancaſter (for you are no more)

Henry, your Grandfather, murder'd his King,

Richard the Second; not content with that,

He trampled on the Rights of the next Heirs.

Your Father, warlike Henry, I confeſs,

Had in Deſert what he did want in Title:

But Merit makes no lawful Claim to Crowns,

For if it did, I wou'd be King of England;

But I will tell you to your Face, Duke Henry,

That you have neither Title nor Deſert.

Queen. O. Cliff. Y. Cliff. Som.

[7]

Moſt impudent of Traytors.

War.

I'll ſpeak Truth,

And value not the Fury of you all;

Your Father Henry was a Wall of Steel,

Thro' which there was no Paſſage to the Throne,

But you are only a ſoft ſilken Curtain,

Which with my Hand, or Breath, I'll put aſide,

And ſeat your ſelf, King Richard, in the Throne,

For it is empty tho' the Duke be there.

Y. Cliff.

What, have theſe Traytors conquer'd us already,

They talk at this bold Rate? Thou Traytor Warwick,

Warwick, no! when thou dethron'ſt thy King

Thou mad'ſt thy ſelf a Groom, by the ſame Law

Thou trampleſt on thy King; a ſawcy Groom

May ſet his dirty Foot upon thy Jaws,

And tell thee they were made both of one Clay.

Edw.

What a fierce Talker's this?

War.

I laugh at him;

All this loud Noiſe and Fury you have heard

Is but the Crackling of ſome burning Thorn,

That hedge the Duke, and they will ſoon be Aſhes.

Queen.

Wherefore does Henry parley with theſe Miſcreants?

Let's draw the Sword, and chaſe theſe Rebels hence,

Daily Diſturbers of our Peace.

York.

Poor Margaret,

I cannot blame thy Rage, but pity thee,

For thou haſt cauſe to rail, ſince from the Fall

Of good Duke Humphrey, all thoſe Schemes prov'd Air,

Which hop'd Succeſs from noble Gloſter's Death;

Mark Heaven's Vengeance.

Queen.

Proud inſulting York!

Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himſelf.

York.

Call Buckingham, and all the Friends thou haſt,

I am reſolv'd for Death or Dignity.

O. Cliff.

The firſt, I warrant thee—if Dreams prove true.

War.

You were beſt go to Bed, and dream again,

To keep thee from the Tempeſt of the Field.

O. Cliff.

I am reſolv'd to bear a greater Storm

Than any thou can'ſt conjure up to Day.

Y. Cliff.

And ſo to Arms, my brave, and noble Father,

To quell the Rebels and their Complices.

War.

[8]

And Royal Richard, fix'd on Loyal Warwick,

Stand like a Cedar on a Mountain Top,

Securely rooted, and deſpiſe all Storm.

Edw.

Now ſound the Trumpets, and each Mandraw his Sword,

A Crown's the Prize, and Victory the Word.

K. Hen.

My Cauſe is fix'd in Heaven, for it is juſt,

And more in Heaven than our Arms I truſt.

[Exeunt ſeverally.

A great Charge here.

Enter Warwick and York Meeting.

War.

How now, my noble Lord, What, all a foot?

York.

The deadly handed Clifford ſlew my Steed,

And I have made a Prey for Kites and Crows,

Even of the bonny Beaſt he lov'd ſo well.

Enter old Clifford.

War.

Old Clifford, now prepare to meet thy Fate.

York.

Hold Warwick, ſeek thou out ſome other Chaſe,

For I my ſelf muſt hunt this Deer to Death.

War.

Then nobly, York, 'tis for a Crown thou fight'ſt.

As I intend Clifford to thrive to Day,

It grieves my Soul to leave thee unaſſail'd.

[Exit.

O Cliff.

York, with thy Bearing ſhou'd I be in love,

But that 'tis ſhewn ignobly, and in Treaſon.

York.

So let it help me now againſt thy Sword,

As I in Juſtice, and true Right, expreſs it.

[They fight, Clifford falls.

Farewel, old valiant Clifford, I ſhould now

Be ſorry for thee, wert thou not my Enemy.

[Exit.

O. Cliff.

I do not lack thy Sorrow, thou art a Traytor,

And I for Loyalty die honourably.

Enter Richard and Somerſet. They fight. Somerſet falls.

Rich.

So lie thou there,

For underneath an Alehouſe paltry Sign,

The Caſtle in St. Albans, Somerſet

Hath made the Wizard famous in his Death.

Sword, hold thy Temper; Heart be wrathful ſtill,

Prieſts pray for Enemies, but Princes kill.

[Exit.

[9]Enter young Clifford.

Y. Cliff.

Shame and Confuſion! all is on the Rout!

My Men are fied, or ſlain, and I alone

Stand like a lofty Maſt, ſhewing my Head

Above the Waves, when all the Ship is ſunk.

I cannot find my Father, nor my King.

O. Cliff.

Oh, Son!

Y. Cliff.

Ha!

Methought I heard a Voice reſembling much

My Father's, very weak and faint it ſeem'd,

As he were far from me, or near to Death.

O. Cliff.

Oh, Clifford, 'tis thy aged Father calls!

Y. Cliff.

Ha! Oh, there he lies!

All wel'tring in his Gore, gaſping for Life!

Oh Father! Father! if thou haſt Breath enough,

Leave with me but the Name of him that wounded thee,

That I may give thee, and my Self, Revenge,

And I'll prefer that glorious Legacy,

Before the Eſtate and Honour which thou leav'ſt me.

O. Cliff.

Plantagenet gave me my Death. Farewel!

[dies.

Y. Cliff.

Plantagenet gave thee thy Death! Plantagenet

Then gave himſelf, and all his Race Deſtruction.

Now let the general Trumpet blow his Blaſt,

And Nature ſtart at this great deadly Shock.

Waſt thou ordain'd, Oh, my dear, loving, Father,

To loſe thy Youth in Peace, and in thy Age

To die in Ruffian Battle? Ev'n at this Sight

My Heart is turn'd to Stone; and from this Time

I will be famous for inhuman Cruelty.

Tears, to me, ſhall be as the Dew to Fire;

And Beauty, that the Tyrant oft reclaims,

Shall to my flaming Wrath be Oil and Flax.

Ne'er more will I have ought to do with Pity.

Meet I an Infant of the Houſe of York,

Into as many Gobbets will I cut it,

As wild Medea young Abſurtus did.

York kills our old Men, and I'll kill his Children,

That when he's dead he may not have a Son

To bear him to the Grave, as I my Father.

Alas, he hears me not—he's dead, he's gone!

Come thou new Ruin of old Clifford's Houſe,

As did Aeneas old Anchiſes bear,

[10] So I'll bear thee upon my manly Shoulders;

But then Aeneas bare a living Load:

Nothing ſo heavy as theſe Woes of mine.

[Exit.

Trumpets ſound, and great Shouts. Enter York, Edward, Richard, George, and Soldiers.

York.

Of brave Warwick, Who can report of him?

This happy Day

Is not it ſelf, nor have we won one Foot,

If that brave Man be loſt.

Rich.

My noble Father,

Three Times, to Day, I help'd him to his Horſe;

Three Times beſtrid him; thrice I led him off,

Perſwaded him from any further Act,

And ſtill where Danger was, ſtill there I met him.

But Noble as he is, look where he comes.

Enter Warwick.

York.

Let me embrace the greateſt Man that breathes.

Geo.

England will learn again to fight and conquer;

A glorious Science we have almoſt loſt,

Under the Reign of this tame, bookiſh King.

War.

What is become of the young boaſting Clifford?

Fate, as if tender of him, did to Day,

When e'er I met him, thruſt a Crowd betwixt us.

York.

I met his Father in the Field; and there

I put the brave old Man to his laſt Bed.

The ſtout old Winter Lion, that had long

Endur'd the Bruſh of Time, fought with that Heat

As he had been but in the Spring of Youth:

Like Arras Hangings in a homely Houſe,

So was his gallant Spirit in his Body.

Edw.

Whilſt we purſu'd the Horſe-Men of the North

With too much Heat, the King eſcap'd our Hands;

But he has left behind ſome of his Friends;

I fell upon the gallant Duke of Buckingham,

And with one fortunate ſubſtantial Blow

I cleft his good ſteel Helmet and his Scull.

War.

Now, by my Sword, well haſt thou fought to Day;

So did we all;

And by my Life, Lords, 'twas a glorious Day;

St. Alban's Battle worthy famous York,

[11] Shall be eterniz'd in all Age to come:

But now, my Lord, poſt we with ſpeed to London,

For thither, I am told, the King is fled,

And there he will repair this Day's wide Breach.

Citizens always love tame, pious Princes,

And ſuch as abhor fighting, like themſelves.

Then, if you can, enter the Town before 'em,

And fill it with your Troops, and ſee to Morrow

To get early into the Parliament Houſe,

There guarded well, openly claim the Crown;

My Tongue and Sword ſhall both aſſert your Title;

Then let me ſee who ſhall dare be ſo bold,

To gainſay what we with our Swords aſſert.

York.

Thou Soul of Valour, Wiſdom and Nobility,

I'll take thy Counſel.

War.

—Come then, away,

Our Enemies gain Strength by our Delay.

[Exeunt.

End of the Firſt ACT.

ACT II.

[12]

York, Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, and other Lords, &c. diſcover'd as in Parliament.

York.

YE Peers of England, having ſhown my Title,

And you approving my juſt Pedigree;

I take Poſſeſſion of my Royal Right,

And to my Death my Scepter I'll maintain.

Enter King Henry, Clifford, and others.

K. Hen.

My Lords, look where the ſturdy Rebel fits.

Young Lord Cumberland, he ſlew thy Father,

And I do think that you have vow'd Revenge

On him, his Sons, his Favourites, and his Friends.

Cliff.

The Hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in Steel.

War.

What ſay you, Lancaſter, will you reſign,

In Peace, the Crown to him whoſe Right it is?

Or, ſhall we force it from you with our Swords?

Cliff.

What, ſhall we ſuffer this? Lets pluck him down.

My Heart for Anger burns, I cannot brook it.

My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament

Let us aſſail the Family of York.

K. Hen.

Far be the Thought of Strife from Henry's Heart

So to abuſe this Place's Dignity.

No, my Lord Clifford, Frowns, Words, and Threats,

Shall be the War that Henry means to uſe.

Thou factious Duke of York, deſcend the Throne,

And kneel for Grace and Mercy at my Feet.

I am thy Sovereign.

York.

[13]

Henry I am thine.

K. Hen.

And ſhall I ſtand, and thou ſit in my Throne?

York.

It muſt and ſhall be ſo—Content thy ſelf.

War.

Be Duke of Lancaſter, ſo he is King.

Cliff.

He is both Duke of Lancaſter, and King;

And that I Clifford boldly will maintain.

War.

And Warwick ſhall diſprove it; you forget

That we are thoſe who chas'd you from the Field,

And ſlew your Fathers, and with Colours ſpread,

March'd thro' the City to the Palace Gates.

Cliff.

Urge it no more, leſt that inſtead of Words

I ſend thee, Warwick, ſuch a Meſſenger

As ſhall revenge his Death before I ſtir.

Plantaganet, of thee, and theſe thy Sons,

Thy Favourites, and Friends, I'll have more Lives

Than Drops of Blood were in my Father's Veins.

War.

Poor Clifford, how we ſcorn thy worthleſs Threats.

York.

Will you, we ſhow our Title to the Crown?

If not, our Swords ſhall plead it in the Field.

Edw.

Good Father, as you love and honour Arms

Let's fight it out, and not ſtand brawling thus.

Rich.

Sound but the Trumpet, and the King will fly.

York.

Peace, Sons.

K. Hen.

Peace all of you, and hear your King.

Rebels, I fear all Danger leſs than you,

For I am better arm'd with Innocence.

But I confeſs I fear a Civil War;

Not for my own, but for my People's Sake.

I am afraid indeed of ſhedding Blood,

But you are all moſt bold in Cruelty:

By which (O Heaven) judge whoſe is the Child,

His who deſires to have it cut in Pieces,

Or mine, who ſtrive in Tenderneſs to ſave it.

Rebels may be ſucceſsful for a Time,

And overturn all Order, Right, and Juſtice:

But Heaven does not let the World ſtand long

In that unnatural, uneaſy Poſture.

Juſt Heaven point out the Courſe I am to take,

I ſhudder at the Thought of Civil War.

And ſhall I tamely then reſign the Crown,

So bravely fought for by my Anceſtors?

I know not what to do. I ſhall run mad.

York.

Thy own Mouth, Henry, has pronounc'd thy Doom.

Succeſsful Murder, and Rebellion

[14] Swell'd for two Generations of thy Race,

Over all Right, and all that durſt oppoſe 'em.

But Heaven in thee has dry'd up the black Stream

And made it ſuch a Brook all trample over it.

K. Hen.

Think'ſt thou I will leave my kingly Throne,

Wherein my Grandſire, and my Father ſat?

No. Firſt ſhall War unpeople this my Realm.

Ay, and their Colours often born in France,

And now in England, to our Heart's great Sorrow,

Shall be my Winding Sheet.—Then fear not, Lords,

My Title's good, and better far than his.

Cliff.

There ſpoke a King indeed.

York.

Henry, do but prove

Thy Title good, and thou ſhalt reign as King.

K. Hen.

Henry the Fourth by Conqueſt got the Crown.

York.

'Twas in Rebellion 'gainſt his lawful King.

K. Hen.

Tell me, may not a King adopt an Heir?

York.

What then?

K. Hen.

Why, if he may, then am I lawful King,

For Richard, in the View of many Lords,

Reſign'd his Crown to Henry the Fourth,

Whoſe Heir my Father was, and I am his.

York.

Did not thy Grandfather compel him to't

By Force of Arms? and then the Parliament,

To their eternal Shame and Infamy,

Flatter'd the wicked, fortunate Uſurper.

War.

But ſay the King had done it unconſtrain'd,

He could not give away another's Right.

Henry uſurp'd the Right of the next Heirs.

York.

To prove this true, read the laſt Words of Mortimer,

Who dy'd in Priſon in your Minor Days,

And dying breath'd theſe Words into my Ears.

[Delivers a Scrowl to Henry.]

That thoſe were the Words of that injur'd Man,

I will maintain, both with my Oath and Sword.

K. Hen.

I know not what to ſay—my Title's weak.

Cliff.

How, Sir, will you revolt from your own ſelf,

Who will ſtand by you then?

War.

Clifford, thou dy'ſt,

If thou permit'ſt not Henry to reſign.

Cliff.

Let Henry give his Title to the Crown,

He ſhall not give my Title to Revenge.

King Henry be thy Title right or wrong,

Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy Defence.

[15] May that Ground gape, and ſwallow me alive,

Where I ſhall kneel to him that ſlew my Father.

War.

Do Right unto this princely Duke of York,

Or I will fill the Houſe with armed Men,

And o'er the Chair of State, where now he ſits,

Write up his Title with uſurping Blood.

K. Hen.

Hold, hold, my Lords—Oh! let not Blood be ſhed,

Firſt hear the Proffers that I have to make,

And hearken all—I find my Title's weak,

And to defend it were to fight with Juſtice.

Beſides, there lies already on my Head,

The Blood of Richard, murder'd by my Grandfather,

And I'd be loth to add my People's Blood,

For ſaving which, hear this Propoſal from me:

I have been King theſe Eight and Thirty Years,

And many Intereſts muſt grow to mine,

That you can never tear me from the Throne,

But you will ſet a Thouſand Veins a bleeding.

Then let me Reign in Quiet all my Life,

And when I'm dead, Plantagenet be King.

York,

I approve of it, and on that Condition

I ſwear to be King Henry's Vaſſal.

K. Hen.

And not to ſeek the Crown by Arms or Treaſon.

York.

Never whilſt King Henry lives.

K. Hen.

Then I intail

The Crown to thee, and to thy Heirs for ever.

Cliff.

What Wrong is this unto the Prince your Son?

War.

What Good is this to England and himſelf?

Cliff.

Baſe, fearful, and deſpairing Henry,

How haſt thou injur'd both thy ſelf and us?

But I will haſte to inform the Queen of this.

Farewel, faint-hearted and degenerate King,

In whoſe cold Blood no Spark of Honour bides.

If thy great Father Henry's Soul did ſee

Thy Baſeneſs, it wou'd torture him in Heav'n.

Plantagenet, when that great Monarch liv'd,

Thou durſt have ſooner let into thy Soul

Ten Thouſand Devils than a Traytor's Thought.

Henry, adieu, be thou a Prey to York,

And die in Bonds for this unmanly Deed.

In dreadful War, may'ſt thou be overcome,

Or live in Peace, abandon'd and deſpis'd.

[Exit.

York.

Sons, head the Troops before the Palace Gates,

Leſt furious Clifford ſhou'd diſturb our Peace.

[Exit.

K. Hen.

[16]

Oh!

War.

Why ſigh you, Sir?

K. Hen.

Not for my ſelf, but my poor Son I've wrong'd.

War.

You have not wrong'd him, you have wholly freed him,

From all the Vengeance due to Uſurpation.

York. I hear the Queen has rais'd Forces in the North.

My Lord of Warwick, attend you the King,

And ſtay to raiſe what Force you can in London,

Whilſt I poſt to the North, and ſo between us

We'll wall her in, and keep that Fire from ſpreading.

[Exit.

K. Hen.

Pray do, my Lords, I will aſſiſt you both

Againſt my ſelf, but Juſtice ſhall be done.

See, yonder comes my Queen, whoſe unkind Looks

Strike Terror to me, oh! I dare not ſtay,

To hear the Bitterneſs of her Reproaches.

Enter the Queen and Prince.

Queen.

Where is the King? What, do you ſhun me, Sir?

Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee.

K. Hen.

Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will ſtay.

Queen.

Who can be patient in ſuch ſad Extremes?

Oh wretched Man, wou'd I had dy'd a Maid,

And never ſeen thee, never bore the Son,

Since thou haſt prov'd ſo unnatural a Father!

Hath he deſerv'd to loſe his Birthright thus?

Hadſt thou but lov'd him half ſo much as I,

Or felt that Pain which I did for him once;

Or nouriſh'd him, as I did with my Blood,

Thou would'ſt have left thy deareſt Heart Blood here,

Rather than make rebellious York thine Heir,

And difinherited thine only Son.

K. Hen.

The Crown is his, I have no Title to it

But what is founded on Rebellion,

The Murder of a King, and Uſurpation.

Queen.

I ſhame to hear thee ſpeak, thou timorous Wretch,

Thou haſt undone thy ſelf, thy Son, and me,

And giv'n to the Houſe of York ſuch Head,

As thou ſhalt reign but by their Sufferance.

To intail him and his Heirs unto the Crown,

What is it, but to make thy Sepulchre,

And creep into it far before thy Time.

Had I been here, who am a poor weak Woman,

The Soldiers ſhould have toſs'd me on their Pikes,

[17] E'er I had ſtoop'd to ſuch unnatural Baſeneſs.

Oh, my dear Son, thou art no more a Prince,

Becauſe thy Father is no more a King:

By one baſe Deed he has undone us all.

Prince.

I am a Prince, and I will be a King:

Father, you cannot diſinherit me;

You may beſtow your Kingdom whilſt you live,

But when you are dead, the Crown by Right is mine,

And by the ſacred Memory of my Anceſtors,

I'll bear no Head that does not wear a Crown.

Queen.

My Son, he ſhall not diſinherit thee,

I have Men here to guard us from the Rebels,

And Troops elſewhere to conquer 'em, and chaſtiſe,

And I will make thee, Son, a glorious Prince,

Whilſt thou, tame Wretch, ſhalt be a Slave to Traytors,

And only be a Shadow of a King.

K. Hen.

Oh, my ſweet Love, talk not ſo harſhly to me!

Queen.

I will be harſher in my Deeds than Words,

For, from this Moment, I divorce my ſelf,

Both from thy Table, Henry, and thy Bed,

Until that Act of Parliament be repeal'd,

Whereby my Son is diſinherited.

K. Hen.

Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me ſpeak.

Queen.

Thou haſt ſpoke too much already, get thee gone;

K. Hen.

Then, my Son Edward, wilt thou ſtay with me!

Queen.

Ay, to be murder'd by his Enemies!

No, thou ſhalt have no Sons of me to ruin:

I ſcorn to be the Mother of a Slave.

Prince.

When I return with Victory from the Field

I'll ſee your Grace, till then I'll follow her.

Queen.

Come, Son, away, we may not linger thus.

[Exeunt.

K. Hen.

Poor Queen, how Love and Pity for my Son

Cauſe Rage in her, as they cauſe Grief in me.

War.

Add her Ambition to her Love and Pity.

For that has no ſmall Share in her Diſturbance.

But come, my Liege, let us ſtraight call a Council,

So to prevent her ſpreading farther Miſchief.

K. Hen.

With all my Heart, my noble Lord of Warwick,

For, O! I'm weary of theſe deadly Broils,

To you I'll readily ſubmit vain Rule:

Tho' on my ſelf I ſure Deſtruction bring,

E'er I'll hurt England I'll not reign your King.

[Exeunt.

[18]Enter York, Edward, and Richard.

Rub.

Father, I think I've plainly made appear

Your Oath to be moſt vain and frivolous,

Therefore to Arms, and, Father, do but think,

How ſweet a Thing it is to wear a Crown,

Within whoſe Circuit is Eliſium,

And all that Poets ſeign of Bliſs and Joy.

Why do we linger thus? I cannot reſt

Until the white Roſe that I wear, be dy'd

E'en in the lukewarm Blood of Henry's Heart.

York.

Richard enough—I will be King or die,

Mountague ſhall to London preſently,

And whet on Warwick to this Enterprize.

Thou, Richard, ſhalt go to the Duke of Norfolk,

And tell him privily of out Intent.

You, Edward, unto my brave Lord Cobham,

With whom the Kentiſh Men will willing riſe.

While you are thus employ'd, what reſteth more,

But that I ſeek Occaſion how to riſe,

And yet the King not privy to my Drift,

Nor any of the Houſe of Lancaſter.

Enter Gentleman.

Now ſay, what News, that thou com'ſt in ſuch Haſte?

Gent.

The Queen, with all the Northern Earls and Lords,

Are near at Hand with Twenty Thouſand Men,

And therefore fortify your Hold, my Lord.

York.

Ay, with my Sword,

What, think'ſt thou that we fear 'em?

Edward and Richard, you ſhall ſtay with me,

I've ſent your Brother George to raiſe ſome Troops;

I hop'd he wou'd have been with me e'er now;

But I muſt take my Fortune—Hark, the Enemy

Approaches us, bring in my dear Child Rutland.

Enter Rutland.

My Darling, let me kiſs thee e'er I go;

I know not if I e'er ſhall ſee thee more;

If I ſhou'd fall under the numerous Enemy,

Whoe'er ſurvives take care of this ſweet Boy.

Rut.

[19]

Why do you talk thus, Sir? You make me weep;

If you muſt die, I hope I ſhall die with you.

I had rather die with you, than live a King.

York.

Sweet Boy, farewel, my Soul. There, take the Child,

And guard him ſafely—If my Arms ſhould fail,

Convey him with ſpeed to our next Garriſon,

And give his Brother Notice of his flight.

[Exit Rutland.

Altho' the Queen has Twenty Thouſand Men,

And our whole Power will make but Five Thouſand,

I'll iſſue forth, and bid 'em Battle ſtrait.

Five Men to Twenty—True, the Odds are great,

Yet I'll not doubt, my Sons, of Victory.

Many a Battle have I won in France,

When the proud Foe has number'd Ten to One;

Why ſhould I not now have the like Succeſs?

Now ſhow your ſelves the Loyal Sons of York,

And fight as each wou'd wear the Royal Crown.

[Exeunt.

Trumpets ſound, &c.

Enter Clifford with a Party.

Cliff.

Purſue, purſue, and give no Quarter:

I charge you do not ſpare nor Sex, nor Age.

[Exit.

Enter Rutland.

Rut.

Oh! whither ſhall I fly? How ſhall I 'ſcape?

Ah, Clifford comes, and no one's here to guard me.

Re-enter Clifford.

Cliff.

Thou curſed Brat of York's accurſed Race,

Prepare to die.

Rut.

Oh! brave, noble, Clifford,

Hear me but ſpeak a Word before I die.

Cliff.

What can'ſt thou ſay, fond Boy, that's worth my hearing?

Rut.

I only beg you to regard your ſelf,

You are a Noble Man, I am a Boy;

Stain not your Fame by killing a poor Boy,

I wou'd not for your own ſake you ſhou'd do it,

For I love gallant Men—and I love you,

Tho' you are my Enemy—becauſe you are valiant.

Cliff.

Away, you infinuating, flattering Boy,

Give o'er, give o'er, for were there in thy Voice

[20] Celeſtial Harmony, my Father's Blood

Has ſhut the Paſſage where the Sound ſhould enter.

Rut.

I did not ſhed his Blood.

Cliff.

Thy Father did.

Rut.

Then fight my Father, that will get you Honour.

Cliff.

Shou'd I kill thee, thy Father, and thy Brothers,

'Twere not Revenge ſufficient for my Wrath.

No, if I dig'd up thy Forefathers Graves

It cou'd not ſlake mine Ire, or eaſe my Heart.

The Sight of any of the Houſe of York

Is as a Fury to torment my Soul;

And till I root out the accurſed Line,

And leave not one alive, I live in Hell,

Therefore—

Rut.

Oh! let me pray before I take my Death;

To thee I pray—ſweet Clifford, pity me.

Cliff.

Such Pity as my Rapier's Point affords.

Rut.

Hear me, but one Word more, dear, brave, Lord Clifford,

You have a Son, for his ſake pity me,

Leſt in Revenge thereof, ſince Heaven is juſt,

He be as miſerably ſlain as I.

Why ſhou'd your Fury burn againſt the Innocent?

Cliff.

I kill thee out of Hatred to thy Kind,

As I would do a Toad, or a young Serpent.

Rut.

Ah! let me live in Priſon all my Days,

And when I give Occaſion of Offence

Then let me die, for now thou haſt no Cauſe.

Cliff.

I'll hear no more, leſt thy ſoft Tongue o'ercome me,

Thy Father ſlew my Father, therefore die.

[Stabs him.

Rut.

May'ſt thou ne'er get more Fame than by this Deed.

[Dies.

Cliff.

Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet,

And this thy Son's Blood cleaving to my Blade,

Shall ruſt upon my Weapon, till thy Blood

Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

Take up the Body, and bring it after me,

I'll make a Preſent of it to proud York.

[Exit.

Enter York.

York.

The Army of the Queen hath got the Field,

My Uncles both are ſlain in reſcuing me;

And all my Followers to the eager Foe

Turn back, and fly like Ships before the Wind,

Or Lambs purſu'd by hungry ſtarved Wolves.

[21] My Sons, Heav'n knows what hath bechanced them,

But this I know, they have behav'd themſelves

Like Men born to Renown, by Life or Death.

Three Times did Richard make a Lane to me,

And thrice cry'd, Courage, Father, fight it out.

And full as oft came Edward to my ſide,

With purple Falchion painted to the Hilt

In Blood of thoſe who had encounter'd him.

Richard cry'd Charge, and give no Foot of Ground,

We'll have a Crown or elſe a glorious Tomb;

A Sceptre, or an earthly Sepulchre.

With this we charg'd again, but ſoon, alas!

Retir'd back, as I have ſeen a Swan,

With bootleſs Labour, ſwim againſt the Tide,

And ſpend her Strength with over-matching Waves.

Ah! hark the fatal Followers do purſue,

And I am very faint, and cannot fly:

But had I Strength; I'm on all Sides inclos'd.

The Sands are number'd that make up my Life,

Here muſt I ſtay, and here my Life muſt end.

Enter Queen, Clifford, and Guards.

Cliff.

Ha! have I found thee, proud Plantagenet?

What tumbled, Phaeton, from thy ſhining Chariot!

Oh, Father! from thy Joys above deſcend,

And ſhare with me the Pleaſure of Revenge.

York.

Thou bloody raging Clifford, do thy worſt,

I'd ſcorn to ask thee Mercy hadſt thou any;

But thou haſt none, then come with all thy Multitudes.

Cliff.

So Cowards fight when they can fly no farther;

So Pidgeons peck the Falcon's piercing Talons;

So deſperate Thieves breathe Curſes at their Officers.

York.

So triumph Thieves upon their conquer'd Beauty;

So true Men yield, by Robbers ſo overmatch'd.

Haſt thou the Inſolence to charge a Prince

With Cowardice, who made thee baſely fly:

Call to thy Memory St. Alban's Battle.

Cliff.

I do, then didſt thou kill my brave old Father.

York.

And now would thee, wer't thou not back'd with Multi⯑tudes.

Cliff.

I will try that—ſtand off, and do not touch him

Unleſs I fall—then cut him all to pieces.

I will not loſe Revenge—yet I will give him

So much Revenge, to kill me if he can.

York.

[22]

I thank thee for this Kindneſs, 'tis a great one.

Queen.

Hold, Clifford, do not Honour him ſo much,

To prick thy Finger, though it wound his Heart.

What Valour were it, when a Cur doth grin,

For one to thruſt his Hand between his Teeth,

When he might ſpurn him with his Foot away?

It is War's Prize to take all Vantages.

And, valiant Clifford, for a Thouſand Cauſes

I wou'd prolong a while the Traytor's Life.

What, was it you that wou'd be England's King?

Waſt you that revell'd in our Parliaments,

And made a Preachment of your high Deſcent?

Where are your Meſs of Sons to back you now?

The wanton Edward and the luſty George.

And where's that valiant Crook-back'd Prodigy,

Dicky, your Boy, that with his grumbling Voice

Was won't to cheer his Dad in Mutinies;

And, with the reſt, where is your darling Rutland?

Look, York, I ſtain'd this Napkin with the Blood

That valiant Clifford, with his Rapier's Point,

Made iſſue from the Boſom of thy Boy,

I bring it thee to wipe away thy Tears.

Alas! poor York, but that I hate thee deadly,

I ſhould lament thy miſerable State.

York.

Oh Tiger's Heart! wrap'd in a Woman's Hide,

How cou'dſt thou drain the Life-Blood of a Child,

To bid his Father wipe his Eyes withal,

And yet be ſeen to wear a Woman's Face?

Queen.

Why, this I did, York, to increaſe thy Sorrow;

I know a Parent's Love, and thy fond Love,

And all the Myſteries of thy haughty Heart:

I knew that thou wouldſt Barricado it

Againſt the Loſſes of a Crown and Life,

With Iron Bars of Stubbornneſs and Pride:

But Oh! this Blood-like Oil will ſink into it;

Theſe crimſon Threads will lead tormenting Grief

Into the inmoſt Lodgings of thy Soul.

And leſt this Napkin be too ſoft a Thing,

I have at Hand an Engin that ſhall ſqueeze

Thy Soul into thy Eyes—bring Rutland's Body.

[23]Rutland's Body brought in.

York.

She Wolf of France, for Woman thou art [...]:

Women are ſoft, mild, pitiful, and flexible,

Thou, ſtern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorſeleſs;

Wouldſt have me rage, why now thou haſt thy Will?

Wouldſt have me weep, why now thou haſt thy Wiſh?

Theſe Tears are my ſweet Rutland's Obſequies,

And every Drop cries Vengeance to his Death.

'Gainſt thee fell Clifford, and thou falſe French Woman.

Oh! my ſweet Boy.

Queen.

Why, this is Muſick to me.

This is the part thou mean'ſt I ſhou'd have play'd,

If thy accurſed Treaſons had ſucceeded;

But, that my Tragedy muſt have been deeper,

And bloodier far, thou mean'ſt I ſhould have wept,

For a loſt Kingdom, Husband, and a Son!

York.

See ruthleſs Queen, a hapleſs Father's Tears.

This Cloth thou dip'dſt in Blood of my ſweet Boy;

And I with Tears do waſh the Blood away:

Keep thou the Napkin, and go boaſt of this,

And if thou tell'ſt the heavy Story right,

Upon my Soul the Hearers will ſhed Tears;

Yea, ev'n my Foes will ſhed faſt falling Tears,

And ſay, alas! it was a piteous Deed.

May, in thy need, ſuch Comfort come to thee,

As now I reap at thy moſt cruel Hand.

Hard hearted Clifford, take me from the World,

My Soul to Heaven, my Blood upon thy Head.

Cliff.

Here's for my Oath, and for my Father's Death,

And here's to Right our gentle hearted King.

[Stabs York.

York.

Open thy Gates of Mercy, gracious Heaven,

My Soul flies through theſe Wounds to ſeek out thee.

[Dies.

Queen.

Now take his Head, once fill'd with lofty Thoughts,

And ſet it on a lofty Pinacle.

[Exeunt.

The End of the Second ACT.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[24]

Enter Edward, Richard, and Soldiers.

Edw.

I Wonder how our princely Father 'ſcap'd,

Or, whether he be 'ſcap'd away, or no,

From Clifford's and Northumberland's Purſuit?

Had he been ta'en, or kill'd, we had heard the News:

Or otherwiſe, methinks, we ſhould have heard

The happy Tidings of his good Eſcape.

How fares my Brother? Why are you ſad?

Rich.

I cannot Joy until I am reſolv'd

What is become of our right valiant Father;

I ſaw him in the Battle range about,

And watch'd him how he ſingled Clifford forth;

Methought he bore him in the thickeſt Troop,

As doth a Lion 'mongſt a Herd of Deer;

Or, as a Bear encompaſs'd round with Dogs,

Who having pinch'd a few, and made 'em cry,

The reſt ſtand all aloof, and bark at him,

So far'd our Father with his Enemies.

See how the Morning opes her golden Gates,

And takes her Farewel of the glorious Sun;

How well reſembles it the Prime of Youth,

Trimm'd like a Yonker prancing to his Love.

Edw.

Dazzle my Eyes, or do I ſee three Suns!

Rich.

Three glorious Suns, each one a perfect Sun,

Not ſeparated with the racking Clouds,

But ſever'd in a pale, clear, ſhining Sky;

See, ſee, they join, embrace, and ſeem to kiſs,

[25] As if they vow'd ſome League inviolable.

Now are they but one Lamp, one Light, one Sun.

In this the Heav'ns figure ſome Event.

Edw.

'Tis wond'rous ſtrange, the like—yet never heard of,

I think it cites us, Brother, to the Field,

That we, the Sons of brave Plantagenet,

Each one already blazing by our Deeds,

Should, notwithſtanding, join our Lights together,

And over ſhine the Earth, as this the World.

Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

Upon my Target, Three fair ſhining Suns.

Enter Gentleman.

But, what art thou, whoſe heavy Looks foretel

Some dreadful Story hanging on thy Tongue?

Gent.

One that was a woful Looker on,

When as the noble Duke of York was ſlain,

Your princely Father, and my noble Lord.

Edw.

Oh, ſpeak no more! For I have heard too much.

Rich.

Say how he dy'd, for I will hear it all.

Gent.

Environ'd he was with many Foes,

And ſtood againſt 'em, as the Hope of Troy

Againſt the Greeks, that would have enter'd there.

But Hercules himſelf muſt yield to odds;

And many Strokes, tho' with a little Ax,

Hews down, and fells the hardeſt timber'd Oak.

By many Hands your Father was ſubdu'd,

But only ſlaughter'd by the ireful Arm

Of unrelenting Clifford, whilſt the Queen

Laugh'd in his Face; and when with Grief he wept,

The ruthleſs Queen, gave him to dry his Cheeks,

A Napkin ſteeped in the harmleſs Blood

Of ſweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford ſlain;

And after many Scorns, many foul Taunts,

They took his Head, and on the Gates of York

They ſet the ſame, and there it doth remain

The ſaddeſt Spectacle that e'er was view'd.

Edw.

Oh Clifford! flinty Clifford! thou haſt crop'd

The Flower of Europe for his Chivalry,

And treacherouſly haſt thou vanquiſh'd him;

For Hand to Hand he would have vanquiſh'd thee.

Now my Soul's Palace is become a Priſon.

[26] Oh! wou'd ſhe break from hence, that this my Body

Might in the Ground be cloſed up in Reſt,

For I henceforth ſhall never joy again;

Never, Oh never, ſhall I know more Joy!

Rich.

I cannot weep, for all my Body's Moiſture

Scarce ſerves to quench my Furnace burning Heart.

Nor can my Tongue unload my Heart's great Burden,

For the ſame Wind that I ſhou'd ſpeak withal,

Is kindling Coals that fire up all my Breaſt;

And burn me up with Flames that Tears would quench.

To weep is to make leſs the Depth of Grief;

Tears then for Babes, but dear Revenge for me.

Richard, I bear thy Name, I'll 'venge thy Death,

Or die renowned by attempting it.

Enter Warwick and Soldiers.

War.

Now, noble Lords, tell me what News abroad.

Edw.

O Warwick! Warwick!—great Plantagenet

Is by the ſtern Lord Clifford put to Death.

War.

Some Time ago I drown'd this News in Tears,

After the bloody Fray at Wakefield fought,

Where your brave Father breath'd his lateſt Gaſp;

Tidings, as ſwiftly as the Poſt could run,

Were brought me of your Loſs, and his Depart.

I then in London, Keeper of the King,

Muſter'd my Soldiers, gather'd Flocks of Friends,

March'd towards St. Albans to intercept the Queen.

Bearing the King, in my Behalf, along;

For by my Scouts I was advertis'd,

That ſhe was coming with a full Intent

To daſh our late Decrees in Parliament,

Touching King Henry's Oaths, and your Succeſſion.

Short Tale to make, we at St. Albans met,

Our Battles join'd, and for long Time we fought;

But whether 'twas the Coldneſs of the King,

Who look'd full gently on his warlike Queen,

That robb'd my Soldiers of their heated Spleen;

Or, whether 'twas Report of her Succeſs,

Or more than common Fear of Clifford's Vigor,

Who thunders to his Captives Blood and Death,

I cannot judge, but to conclude with Truth,

Their Weapons like to Light'ning came and went;

Our Soldiers, like the Night-Owls lazy Flight,

[27] Or like a lazy Thraſher with his Flail,

Fell gently down, as if they ſtruck their Friends;

I cheer'd 'em up with Juſtice of our Cauſe,

With Promiſe of high Pay, and great Reward,

But all in vain, they had no Heart to fight;

And we in them no Hope to win the Day,

So that we fled; the King unto the Queen,

Lord George, your Brother; Norfolk and my ſelf,

With th' utmoſt ſpeed, are come to join with you;

For in the Marſhes here we heard you were,

Making another Head to fight again.

Edw.

Where is the Duke of Norfolk, noble Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

War.

Some four Miles off the Duke is with the Soldiers,

And for your Brother, he was lately ſent

From your kind Aunt, Dutcheſs of Burgundy,

With needful Aid of Soldiers to this War,

And ev'ry Minute I expect him here.

Rich.

'Twas Odds belike, when valiant Warwick fled;

Oft have I heard his Praiſes in Purſuit,

But ne'er till now, his Scandal of Retreat.

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 Scepter from his Hand,

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 buſy Time, what's to be done?

Shall we go throw away our Coats of Steel,

And wrap our Bodies in black Mourning Gown,

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,

And therefore comes my Brother Mountague;

Then once again let's ſtride our foaming Steeds,

And once again cry Charge upon our Foes,

But never more will we turn back and fly.

Rich.

Ay, now, indeed, I hear great Warwick ſpeak.

Ne'er may he live to ſee a Sun-ſhine Day

That cries Retreat, if Warwick bid him ſtay.

[28]Enter George and Soldiers.

Edw.

My Brother George, take a ſhort Soldiers Welcome,

I have not Time to greet thee as I ought,

For we are going to a glorious Feaſt.

Geo.

I heard of our great Father's ſad Misfortunes,

And came to his Revenge with all the ſpeed

A hungry Wretch wou'd do to a great Feaſt,

Where there are many Gueſts, and he far off.

Edw.

Say, my dear Brother, are your Troops prepar'd?

Geo.

All, all with a longing Appetite for War.

War.

No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;

The next Degree is England's Royal Throne;

For King of England ſhalt thou be proclaim'd,

And he that throws not up his Cap for Joy,

Shall for the Fault make forfeit of his Head.

Stay we no longer dreaming of Renown,

But ſound the Trumpets, and about our Taſk.

Enter Meſſenger.

Meſſ.

Princes prepare, the Foe is near at Hand,

The Amazon Queen drags Henry to the Battle,

Who fain wou'd keep his Oath, but ſhe'll not ſuffer him.

Edw.

Why, let 'em come, we are prepar'd to face 'em.

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.

This Day decides who ſhall be King of England.

Strike up our Drums, and let the Trumpets ſound,

Our brave Approach ſhall ſo much dare the Field,

That Henry ſhall couch down in Fear, and yield.

[Exit.

A ſhort March, then an Alarm, claſhing of Swords, and ſhouting. Enter Warwick.

War.

Ev'n ſpent with Toil, as Runners with a Race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe,

For Strokes receiv'd, and many Blows repay'd,

Have robb'd my ſtrong knit Sinews of their Strength.

[29]Enter Edward.

Edw.

Smile, gentle Heav'n, or ſtrike, ungentle Death,

For this World's Frowns, and Edward's Sun is clouded.

Enter George.

Geo.

Our Ranks are broke, and Ruin follows us:

What Counſel give you? Whither ſhall we fly?

Edw.

Bootleſs is Flight, they follow us with Wings,

And weak we are, and cannot ſhun Purſuit.

Enter Richard.

Rich.

Ah Warwick!—Why haſt thou withdrawn thy ſelf,

Thy Brother's Blood the thirſty Earth hath drunk,

Broach'd with the ſteely Point of Clifford's Lance;

And in the very Pangs of Death he cry'd,

Like to a diſmal Clangor heard from far,

Warwick revenge, Brother, revenge my Death:

So underneath the Belly of his Steeds,

That ſtain'd their Fetlocks in his ſmoaking Blood,

The noble Gentleman gave up the Ghoſt.

War.

Then let the Earth be drunken with our Blood,

I'll kill my Horſe becauſe I will not fly.

Why ſtand we like ſoft-hearted Women here,

Wailing our Loſſes, while the Foe doth rage,

And look upon, as if the Tragedy

Were play'd in Jeſt by counterfeiting Actors?

Here, on my Knees, I vow to Heav'n above,

I'll never pauſe again, never ſtand ſtill,

Till either Death doth cloſe theſe Eyes of mine,

Or, till the Battle gives me full Revenge.

Edw.

O Warwick! I do bend my Knee with thine,

And in this Vow do chain my Soul to thine;

And e'er my Knee riſe from the Earth's cold Face,

I lift my Hands, my Eyes, my Heart, to thee,

Thou Setter up, and Plucker down, of Kings,

Beſeeching thee (if with thy Will it ſtands)

That to my Foes this Body muſt be Prey,

Yet that thy glorious Gates of Heav'n may ope,

And give ſweet Paſſage to my wand'ring Soul.

Geo.

[30]

Yet let us all together to our Troops,

And give them leave to fly that dare not ſtay;

And call them Pillars that will ſtand to us,

Promiſing ſuch Rewards if we ſhould thrive,

As Victors wore at the Olympian Games:

This may plant Courage in their quailing Breaſts,

For yet is Hope of Life and Victory.

Rich.

Again then let our bloody Colours wave,

And either Victory, or elſe a Grave.

Edw.

Now Lords, take leave until we meet again,

Where-e'er it be, in Heav'n, or on Earth.

[Exeunt.

Enter Richard and Clifford, meeting.

Rich.

Now Clifford, I have ſingled thee alone,

Suppoſe this Arm is for the Duke of York,

And for young Rutland, bound to revenge 'em both,

Wert thou inviron'd with a brazen Wall.

Cliff.

And, Richard, here's the Hand that ſtabb'd old York;

The ſelf ſame Hand that ſlew thy Brother Rutland;

And here's the Heart that triumphs in their Deaths,

And cheers the Hand that ſlew thy Sire and Brother,

To execute the like upon thy ſelf,

And ſo have at thee.

Rich.

Now guard well thy Heart.

[Fight off the Stage

Enter King Henry.

K. Hen.

The Battle fares like to the Morning's War,

When dying Clouds contend with growing Light;

Both Armies tug for Victory Breaſt to Breaſt,

Yet neither's Conqueror, nor conquered.

Here, on this Mole-hill, will I ſet me down,

An eaſier Seat than a high Throne of State;

To whom Heav'n will there be the Victory,

For Margaret, my Queen, and Clifford too,

Have chid me from the Battle, ſwearing both,

They proſper beſt of all when I am thence.

Wou'd I were dead, if it were Heav'ns good Will,

For what is in this World but Grief and Woe:

Oh! I am weary of this wretched State.

Juſt now I met a Son bearing his Father,

And an unhappy Father with his Son,

[31] Each by the other ſlain unwittingly;

They being preſs'd into different Services.

Oh monſtrous Effect of Civil War!

Oh piteous Spectacle! Oh ſad Confuſions!

What horrid Errors, and unnatural Ills,

Our horrid and unnatural War produces!

Alas! had they lack'd Tears, I cou'd ſupply 'em.

How will the Kingdom, for theſe woful Chances,

Miſ-think the King, and not be ſatisfy'd.

Oh wretched Men! How are ye all deceiv'd,

Who think there's no true Joy but in a Crown.

By my Life,

It is the very Height of Miſery:

Nature's common Benefits we want;

Our Sleep unſound, and ſhort, and all our Needs,

To be ſupply'd with Fear, ſince Treachery

Lurks in each Corner of a curſed Court?

How often is a Monarch ſtung to Death,

By the deadly Viper which his Boſom warm'd?

How do we rack our Brain with Thoughts for others,

Who nothing think for us? Yet, how are Men gull'd

With the deceitful Bait of Pomp and Shew,

Meer gaudy Pagentry, to varniſh over

A wild diſtracted State?

Now, by my Royalty, and pompous Woe,

A Priſon's preferable to a Court:

There, tho' confin'd, I cou'd enjoy my Mind,

At Liberty, ſoar to the high Orbs of Heaven,

And gain a Kingdom of immortal Joy;

While others, toiling for a Nation's Good,

Shall loſe themſelves. Alas!

Did my Son know the Trouble of a Crown,

He'd ceaſe to wonder why I ſhould reſign it,

And joyn in Prayers for Heaven to take it from me.

Oh wretched Men, who in theſe Wars have loſt

Your deareſt Friends, and now are weeping for 'em,

Here is a King more woful than you all,

You grieve but for your ſelves, I for you all!

Oh you, who when you ſuffer by your Kings,

Think to mend all by War, and by Rebellion,

See here your ſad Miſtakes; how dreadfully

You ſcourge your ſelves!

And, Oh! you Kings, who let your People rule

[32] Till they have run themſelves into Confuſion,

See here, ſuch Gentleneſs does wound like Tyranny.

Enter Queen and Prince.

Prince.

But that my Heart's on future Battles ſet,

I wou'd ſpeak Blaſphemy e'er bid you fly;

But fly you muſt, for all your Friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chaſed Bull:

Away, for Death doth hold us in Purſuit.

Queen.

The Day is loſt, and with the Day the Kingdom.

K. Hen.

Where's Clifford?

Prince.

Oft within this Hour

I ſaw him down, oft up again, and fighting,

From Helmet, to the Spur, all Blood he was.

Queen.

Stay not to talk—Clifford, I think, is dead;

I met him bleeding with an Hundred Wounds,

And now in Cakes of Blood his Fire is quench'd.

Mount you, my Load, towards Berwick, poſt amain;

Nay, ſtay not to expoſtulate, make ſpeed.

K. Hen.

I go, but care not what becomes of me.

[Exit.

Enter Clifford wounded.

Cliff.

Here burns my Candle out, that lighted Henry:

My Love and Fear glew'd many Friends to thee,

And now I fall, thy tough Commixtures melt,

Impairing good Henry, ſtrength'ning proud York.

And, whither fly the Gnats but to the Sun?

And, who ſhines now but Henry's Enemies?

O Phoebus, hadſt thou never giv'n Conſent,

That Phaeton ſhou'd check thy fiery Steeds,

Thy burning Car never had ſcorch'd the Earth.

And Henry, hadſt thou ſway'd as Kings ſhou'd do;

Or as thy Father, and his Father did,

Giving no Ground unto the Houſe of York,

They never then had ſprung like Summer flies.

I, and Ten Thouſand, in this luckleſs Realm,

Had left no Mourning Widows for our Death;

And thou, this Day, hadſt kept thy Chair in Peace;

For, what doth cheriſh Weeds, but gentle Air?

And, what makes Robbers bold, but too much Lenity.

Bootleſs are Plaints, and cureleſs are my Wounds;

No way to fly, nor Strength to hold out Flight:

[33] The Foe is mercileſs, and will not pity;

For at their Hands I have deſerv'd no Mercy.

The Air hath got into my deadly Wounds,

And much Effuſe of Blood doth make me faint.

Come York and Richard, Clarence, and the reſt,

I ſtabb'd your Father's Boſons, ſplit my Breaſt.

[Faints.

Shout.] Enter Edward, Richard, George, Warwick, Soldiers.

Edw.

Now breathe we, Lords, good Fortune bids us pauſe,

And ſmooth the Frowns of War with peaceful Looks.

Are any Troops gone to purſue the Queen?

On her Fame Henry's Fortune does depend,

As the Seas Ebb and Flow does on the Moon.

War.

I have ta'en Care of that.

Edw.

Pray tell me, Lords,

Think you that Clifford fled with the King and Queen?

War.

No, 'tis impoſſible he ſhou'd eſcape;

For tho' before his Face I ſpeak the Word,

Your Brother Richard mark'd him for the Grave,

And whereſoe'er he is, he's ſurely dead.

Cliff.

Oh!

[dies.

Edw.

Whoſe Soul is that which takes her deadly Leave?

See who it is—And now the Battle's ended,

If Friend, or Foe, let him be gently us'd.

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 ſet his murth'ring Knife unto the Root,

From whence that tender Spray did ſweetly ſpring,

I mean our princely Father, Duke of York.

Edw.

Bring forth that fatal Screch-Owl to our Houſe,

That nothing ſung but Death to us and ours;

Now Death ſhall ſtop his diſmal threat'ning Sound,

And his ill-boding Tongue no more ſhall ſpeak.

War.

I think his Underſtanding is bereft.

Say Clifford, Doſt thou know who ſpeaks to thee?

Dark, cloudy Death, o'erſhades his Beams of Life,

And he nor ſees, nor hears us, what we ſay.

Since then he's dead, off with the Traytor'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.

[34] From hence ſhall Warwick cut the Sea to France,

And ask the Lady Bona for thy Queen;

So ſhalt thou ſinew both theſe Lands together;

And having France thy Friend, thou ſhalt not dread

The ſcatter'd Foes that hope to riſe again;

For tho' they cannot greatly ſting to hurt,

Yet look to have 'em buz to offend your Ears.

Edw.

Oh! thou haſt made me much in Love with Bona,

And all Relations have increas'd my Paſſion;

I cannot Marry better—haſte away.

War.

Then, Royal Sir, I humbly take my Leave.

Edw.

Succeſs attend your Embaſſy, my Lord.

[Exit.

Enter a Gentleman.

Gent.

A beauteous Lady, attir'd in Widow's Weeds,

Intreats Admiſſion to your Majeſty.

Edw.

Admit her inſtantly.

[Exit Gent.

Enter Lady Grey. She kneels, and delivers a Petition. The King gazes on her.

L. G.

Sir, I preſent you humbly the Petition

Of a poor Widow, and her little Orphans.

I am the Relict of one Sir John Grey,

Who in St. Alban's Battle loſt his Life,

In the Defence of him we thought our King.

If my poor Husband's Loyalty did err,

He dearly for that fatal Error paid.

My humble Prayer is, that my poor Orphans

May not be puniſh'd for their Father's Faults,

If erring Loyalty can be a Fault.

Edw.

I ne'er had Eyes, or my Eyes ne'er ſaw Beauty

Till this amazing Minute.

Rich.

So! he's loſt,

And any one may have England now that will.

L. G.

May it pleaſe your Highneſs to reſolve me now,

And what your Pleaſure is ſhall ſatisfy me.

Rich.

Ay, Widow, then, I'll warrant you, all your Lands,

If that which pleaſes him ſhall pleaſure you.

Edw.

I am ſo rapp'd, I mind not what ſhe ſays,

Nor that ſhe is all this while upon her Knees.

Pray, Madam, riſe—leave us.

Rich.

[35]

Yea, is it ſo?

I ſee the Lady hath a Thing to grant

Before the King will grant her humble Suit.

Edw.

If I forget not, you ſaid you had a Husband

Who in St. Alban's Battle loſt his Life.

L. G.

Yes, Sir, I had, his Name was Sir John Grey.

Edw.

What Excellence had he above Mankind,

That he ſhou'd be more bleſt than all the reſt?

How many Children have you, Lady? Tell me.

Geo.

I think he means to beg a Child of her.

Rich.

Nay, then hang me, he'll rather give her two.

L. G.

Three, my moſt gracious Lord.

Rich.

You ſhall have Four if you'll be rul'd by him.

Edw.

Oh wondrous, happy Man, to enjoy this Woman!

I muſt enquire about her, I was never,

Never ſo charm'd before—my Lord, come hither,

Pray do you know this Lady?

Lord.

Yes, Sir, well,

She is the Widow of the late Sir John Grey,

A Man of noble Blood, and great Eſtate,

But a moſt vehement Lancaſtrian.

Edw.

No Matter: Of what Family is ſhe?

Lord.

Her Quality does far exceed her Husband's,

And yet her Vertue does exceed her Quality;

She is the Daughter of Sir Richard Woodvil,

Her Mother was ſometime Dutcheſs of Bedford,

And Daughter of the Earl of St. Pool.

Edw.

Of noble Birth, and by her Mother's Side

Related to the Houſe of Lancaſter.

Lord.

She is by Marriage, Sir, that was the Cauſe

That Sir John Grey was ſuch a fierce Lancaſtrian.

Edw.

She has Beauty, Vertue, joyn'd with noble Birth;

Why may not this fair Lady be a Queen?

But ſhe's a Subject, England will not like it;

And the Engliſh Nation, like the Sea it governs,

Is bold and turbulent, and eaſily mov'd,

And always beats againſt the Shore that bounds it.

What, are the People free, and not the King?

Not free, where every Slave is free, his Bed;

Ay, ſo it is it ſeems, and th' Engliſh Fury,

Will eaſily with any Wind be rais'd,

To daſh the Palaces and Peace of Kings.

Come what will come, this Lady ſhall be mine;

She ſhall be, or my Miſtreſs, or my Wife.

[36] What was it, Madam, you deſir'd of me?

L. G.

To give poor Orphans, Sir, their Father's Lands.

Edw.

Heaven forbid I ſhou'd retain 'em from 'em.

L. G.

Then, Sir, with humble Thanks, I take my leave.

Edw.

Hold, Madam, for I muſt have one Word more.

Pray tell me, Madam, Do you love your Children?

L. G.

More dearly, Sir, than I do love my ſelf.

Edw.

And wou'd you not do much to do them good?

L. G.

To do them good I wou'd ſuſtain much harm.

Edw.

I muſt impoſe a Tax upon this Land.

L. G.

It ſhall be thankfully and gladly paid.

Edw.

It will, I'm ſure, more gladly be receiv'd.

It is an eaſy Tax, no more but Love.

L. G.

No Loyal Subject, Sir, but loves their King.

Edw.

But this is Love that none but you can grant.

L. G.

I do not underſtand your Meaning, Sir.

Edw.

Truly I ſcarcely underſtand my ſelf.

For I have gaz'd my ſelf out of my Reaſon.

L. G.

With your Permiſſion, Sir, I take my Leave.

Edw.

Oh, you ſhall never, never, part from me!

L. G.

Alas! what mean you, Sir.

Edw.

I mean all the Love

E'er was, or can be, in the Heart of Man.

L. G.

Oh, Royal Sir, I dare not underſtand you,

Becauſe I dare not think Ill of my Prince.

Edw.

Can there be ill in Love? There will be all

The Happineſs to me, Glory to you,

Your Heart and mine can poſſibly deſire.

Why do you tremble, and draw back your Hand?

You muſt not, ſhall not ſtir, till you have granted

What all this Languiſhing and Preſſing mean.

L. G.

Oh, I ſhall ſwoon! Wou'd I had ne'er come here.

Sir, I thus low moſt humbly beg of you,

Let it ſuffice your conquering Arms have ſeiz'd

My Husband's Life, your Laws have ſeiz'd his Lands,

Seek not to take my Honour, and my Vertue.

I never fought againſt you, ne'er oppos'd you.

Edw.

Her Looks do argue her repleat with Modeſty.

Her Words do ſhow her Senſe incomparable.

All her Perfections challenge Sovereignty;

I wrong her therefore, ſhe deſerves a Crown,

And each Look claims a Kingdom as its due.

Madam, I mean nothing but Honour to you,

I am reſolv'd to make you Queen of England.

L. G.

[37]

Now, Sir, you mean Diſhonour to your ſelf;

I am as much unworthy to be Queen,

As I'm above ſerving an ill Deſign.

Edw.

Rather, the Crown's unworthy of your Beauty.

L. G.

It is impoſſible you ſhou'd deſcend

To ſuch mean Thoughts.

Edw.

It is impoſſible

I ſhou'd have Happineſs without your Love.

I had rather with your Love be your dead Husband,

Than with your Hatred be a living King.

Therefore conſider well what you will do.

Think on the Extravagance of my Paſſion;

Think how very great or miſerable

My Power can make you, and remember too,

You ſaid you were fond of all your Children,

And that to do them Good you cou'd bear Harm.

And now, behold a King, who courts both you

And them to Wealth, Pomp, and Royal Greatneſs.

L. G.

Heav'n inſtruct me what Anſwer I ſhall make.

Who knows how far his Paſſion, back'd with Power,

May hurry him to ruin me and mine:

If I ſhould not conſent unto his Will,

I, by denial, ruin our whole Houſe.

When I, by yielding, bear the Storm alone,

I rather will conſent to ſacrifice

My ſelf, than ſee my poor little Orphans

Reduc'd to Shame, to Want, and Beggary;

That Thought ſtrikes more Poniards into my Heart,

Than my conſenting unto Edward's Love.

Oh, that I only were concern'd in this!

[aſide.

I lately wiſh'd I never had come here,

For my own ſake, I wiſh it now for yours.

Oh think, Sir, what will all your Subjects ſay!

Edw.

They'll ſay I am in Love.

L. G.

But will they not

Be much diſpleas'd their Prince ſhou'd love ſo low.

Edw.

I give them leave to chuſe where they like beſt,

And ſhall I be the only Man impos'd on.

L. G.

But you have ſent to Court a foreign Princeſs,

May bring your Kingdom great Advantages,

Conſider how you may enrage Lord Warwick.

Edw.

He is my Friend and Subject, not my Maſter.

L. G.

I fear the World will much condemn you, Sir.

Edw.

I care not.

[38] I had rather live a Minute in your Arms,

Than many Ages in the Praiſe of Fools.

Enter Gentleman.

Gent.

Moſt happy Tidings, Sir Henry, your Enemy,

Wandring alone diſguis'd in homely Habit,

Was taken by the Keepers of the Foreſt,

As he was reading in a lonely Covert.

Edw.

Good News, indeed! where is he, bring him to me.

Enter King Henry in mean Habit.

Why, how now Henry, in this humble Garb?

Hen.

Inſult not, Edward, over my Misfortunes,

But from this Garb, in which thou ſcarce canſt know me,

Learn thou to know thy ſelf, and remember,

Heav'n can humble ev'ry King like me.

Edw.

Henry, I pity thee, thou doſt not ſuffer

For thy own Crimes, but thoſe of thy uſurping

And traiterous Anceſtors—to London with him,

And keep him a cloſe Priſoner in the Tower;

See that he there command all Things but Liberty.

How all my Happineſſes flow together;

My Head incircled with a glorious Crown,

My greateſt Enemy within my Power.

Succeſsful Conqueſt waiting on my Arms,

And what's yet more, poſſeſs'd of thy bright Charms.

[Exeunt.

Manet Rich.

And have I fought only to give you Joys?

What, muſt not I too have an equal Share?

I have my Paſſions, Sir, as well as you.

Whence do thoſe Paſſions ſpring, from childiſh Love?

No, from manly Greatneſs; all other Fondneſs

I've baniſh'd from this rude tough Breaſt of mine,

For I'm not made to pleaſe a wanton Eye.

Then, what will ſatisfy my Appetite?

Nought but a Crown, it hangs within my ſight,

And I will ſtretch this blaſted Arm of mine

O'er all the Heads that are 'twixt me and that

But I will reach it—my Arm muſt then be long,

For ſay that Edward's Title's buried,

Still there remains Clarence and Henry,

And his Son Edward, with their unlook'd for Iſſue,

[39] To take their Rooms, e'er I can place my ſelf.

A cold Premeditation for my Purpoſe.

Why then do I but dream on Sovereignty?

Like one that ſtands upon a Promontory,

And ſpies afar off Shore, which he wou'd tread,

Wiſhing his Foot were equal with his Eye;

And chides the Sea that ſunders him from thence,

Saying, he'll lave it dry, to have his Way.

So flatter I my ſelf with Things impoſſible.

How rarely wou'd the long Regal Robe

Hide my Deformity of Back and Legs?

How wou'd a Sceptre grace this ſhrunk up Arm?

And, Oh! what Beauty is there in a Crown?

And till I gain it I do live in Torment.

Shall I then ſtand like one loſt in a Wood,

And rather bear the pricking of the Thorns,

Than ſtain my Sword by hewing out my Way?

Why do I not ſet this Brain of mine to work,

And frame my Countenance to all Occaſions?

I'll play the Orator as well as Neſtor,

Deceive more ſlyly than Ulyſſes cou'd,

And like a Sinon take another Troy.

I can add Colours to the Camelion,

And, for Advantage, can change Shapes with Proteus.

Have I endur'd all Hazards of the War,

Only to ſee this luſtful Edward reign?

Have both my Hands, for him, been waſh'd in

Blood—

And ſhall they not dare do the ſame for me?

Soft Time, and Cunning, and a daring Mind,

Shall ſet this wiſh'd for Crown upon my Head?

Some Men, perhaps, will ſay by Villany,

That's Villany, which by its ill Succeſs,

Betrays a Man, and into Ruin throws,

When once it gains a Crown, it Vertue grows.

The End of the Third ACT.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

[40]

Enter Warwick with a Letter.

EDward,

'tis well, I do deſerve this from thee,

For being ſuch an Aſs to fight for one

Who melts each Hour away in Luxury,

And gives his Kingdom for a Widow's Toy.

Edward, my Wrongs are great, and thou ſhalt find

I think 'em ſo.

Did I forget, that by the Houſe of York

My Father came untimely to his Death:

Did I impale thee with the Regal Crown,

And put King Henry from his native Right,

And is it thus thou recompenc'ſt my Deeds?

My injur'd Honour rouſes up my Rage.

Am I rewarded at the laſt with Shame?

Then, to repair my Honour loſt for thee,

I will renounce thee, and return to Henry.

So, noble Margaret, former Grudges paſs,

Henceforth I'll be her faithful Servitor,

And I'll plant Henry in his former State.

When I departed from this treacherous Edward,

Matters of Marriage was the Charge he gave me,

But dreadful War ſhall anſwer his Demand.

Had he none elſe to make a S [...]e but me?

Then none but I ſhall turn his Jeſt to Sorrow?

I was the Chief that rais'd him to this Pomp,

And I'll be Chief to bring him down again.

Both in Pity of Henry's Miſery,

And for Revenge of Edward's Mockery.

[Exit.

[41]Enter Edward, and Attendants, meeting a Meſſenger.

Edw.

Now Sir, what Letters, or, what News, from France?

Meſſ.

My Sovereign Liege, no Letters, and few Words,

But ſuch as I (without your ſpecial Pardon)

Dare not relate.

Edw.

Go too, we pardon thee:

Therefore, in brief, tell their Words,

As near as thou canſt gueſs them.

What Anſwer made King Lewis to our Letters?

Meſſ.

At my Depart theſe were his very Words;

Go tell falſe Edward, thy ſuppoſed King,

That Lewis of France is ſending over Maſkers,

To revel it with him, and his new Bride.

Edw.

Is Lewis ſo brave? Belike he thinks me Henry.

But what ſaid Lady Bona to my Marriage?

Meſſ.

Theſe were her Words, utter'd with mild Diſdain;

Tell him, in hope he'll prove a Widower ſhortly,

I'll wear the Willow Garland for his ſake.

Edw.

I blame not her, ſhe cou'd ſay little leſs;

Her's was the Wrong. But what ſaid Henry's Queen?

For ſhe, I hear, was preſent at that Time.

Meſſ.

Tell him (quoth ſhe)

My Mourning Weeds I now ſhall lay aſide,

And I am ready to put Armour on.

Edw.

Belike ſhe means to play the Amazon,

Yet how brooks Warwick this our ſudden Marriage?

Meſſ.

He, more incens'd againſt your Majeſty

Than all the reſt, diſcharg'd me with theſe Words;

Tell him, from me, that he hath done me wrong,

And therefore I'll uncrown him e'er be long.

Edw.

Ha! durſt the Traytor utter ſuch proud Words?

Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd;

They ſhall have Wars, and pay for their Preſumption;

But ſay, is Warwick Friends with Margaret?

Meſſ.

They are ſo link'd in Friendſhip, Sovereign,

That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's Daughter.

Edw.

Haſte you to Stafford; bid him levy Men,

The Foe already's landed on our Coaſt,

And therefore let us hence, and loſe no Hour,

'Till we meet Rebel Warwick with his Power.

[Exeunt.

[42]Enter King Henry, Prince, Queen, Warwick, and Guards.

Queen.

Now, Sir, you are King again, this valiant Lord

Has left the horrid Deſarts of Rebellion;

Where he, and all his glorious Deeds were loſt,

And found the Road of Honour.

War.

I confeſs

Fortune did miſlead me, and I the Kingdom,

To give your Royal Rights to a falſe Prince,

Who has ſome Royal Blood, no Royal Vertues,

So has no Right to Crowns thoſe Vertues gain'd.

K. Hen.

I give you Thanks, my Lord, for your great Gifts;

Life, Freedom, and a Crown. I call 'em Gifts,

Cauſe you can take 'em from me, or let me keep 'em.

To Life and Freedom I have a clear Title,

Becauſe I ne'er did ill to forfeit 'em.

But oh! I am afraid to wear the Crown,

For fear I ſhare the Murder that procur'd it.

Queen.

Oh ſpiritleſs Prince! born for a Priſon, not a Throne.

What, if your Grandfather murder'd his King,

Muſt you take Phyſick for his Sickneſſes?

Or rather die! for a King's Crown and Life

Go fight together—ſo King Richard found it.

Prince.

Sir, all our Lives wholly depend on yours,

And for one Fault of your dead Grandfather,

Which he repented, will you puniſh Thouſands?

That he full ſore repented Richard's Death,

His Deeds do ſhow, for in goodly Order

He follow'd the King's Body to the Grave,

And on it he beſtow'd more contrite Tears,

Than from it iſſued forced Drops of Blood.

Five Hundred Poor he yearly held in pay,

Who twice a Day their wither'd Hands held up

Towards Heav'n, to pardon the ſad bloody Crime.

And more, did he not erect two Chauntries,

Where ſtill the ſad and ſolemn Prieſts do ſing

For Richard's Soul: You'll ſin to loſe the Crown,

More than our Grandfather did to gain it.

Queen.

If you will doom your ſelf to be depos'd,

Becauſe the Crown was gotten by ill Means;

By the ſame Law you may deſtroy half your Kingdom,

If Men, by inheriting their Fathers Fortunes,

Inherit the Crimes, by which their Fathers gain'd 'em,

[43] Where is the Nation would not deſerve Death?

K. Hen.

Full well hath Marg'ret play'd the Orator,

Inferring Arguments of mighty Force:

But, pray now, tell me, did you never hear,

That Things ill got had ever bad Succeſs.

I'll leave my Son my virtuous Deeds behind,

And would my Father had left me no more:

For all the reſt is held at ſuch a Rate,

As brings a Thouſand Fold more Care to keep,

Than in Poſſeſſion any Jot of Pleaſure.

Prince.

Sir, if you be no King, we are all Rebels,

And merit Death.

War.

The undeſerving Edward's,

Not only doom'd by Heav'n unfit for Reign,

But by his Fleſh and Blood, his Brother Clarence,

Who has revolted from him,

And to create between us

A laſting League, marries my eldeſt Daughter.

Prince.

And I have giv'n my Heart, Sir, to her Siſter,

Who has kindly liſt'ned to my Tale of Love.

Oh, do not make me wretched e'ery Way!

Queen.

Ambitious York did level at thy Crown,

Thou ſmiling while he knit his angry Brows;

He but a Duke wou'd have his Son a King,

And raiſe his Iſſue, like a loving Sire.

Thou being a King, bleſt with a goodly Son,

Didſt yield Conſent to diſinherit him,

Which argu'd thee a moſt unloving Father.

Unreaſonable Creatures feed their Young;

And tho' Man's Face be fearful to their Eyes,

Yet in Protection of their tender Ones,

Who hath not ſeen 'em, even with thoſe Wings

Which ſometimes they have us'd with fearful Flight,

Make War with him that climb'd unto their Neſt,

Off'ring their own Lives in their Young's Defence.

For ſhame then, Henry, make them your Preſident;

Were it not pity that this goodly Boy

Shou'd loſe his Birthright by his Father's Fault,

And long hereafter ſay unto his Child,

What my great Grandfather, and Grandſire, got,

My careleſs Father fondly gave away?

Ah, what a Shame were this—Look on the Boy,

And let his manly Face, which promiſeth

Succeſsful Fortune, ſteel thy melting Heart

[44] To hold thy own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Hen.

Oh! Nature conquers me!

Queen.

Oh, happy Conqueſt!

Prince.

Upon my Knees, Sir, I return you Thanks.

Enter George.

War.

See, here he comes, who gallantly to ſerve

His King and Country, will forſake his Brother.

Welcome, brave Clarence, I hold it Cowardice

To reſt miſtruſtful, where a noble Heart

Hath pawn'd an open Hand in Sign of Love;

Elſe might I think that Clarence, Edward's Brother,

Were but a feigned Friend to our Proceedings.

But once more welcome, my Daughter ſhall be thine.

Geo.

I thought my Blood deriv'd a Crown to us,

But now I find it derives only Treaſon;

To clear the Taint, I come to ſet it boiling

Over a flaming Zeal for the King's Service.

War.

What think you now, Sir? Do you judge your Title

Good, when your very Enemies proclaim it.

Hen.

I find it's Heaven's Will that I ſhou'd Reign.

My noble Friends, let me embrace you both.

My Lord of Warwick, you are Fortunate,

I muſt beg you to Rule, for I'm afraid

My thwarting Stars will blaſt this bleſſed Land.

War.

Your Majeſty is wiſe to foreſee Evils,

And Good, that you wou'd ſave your People from 'em.

Here ſtands a Prince moſt worthy of Command.

Geo.

The World has not more Worth than great Lord War⯑wick.

K. Hen.

Give me your Hands, I join you both together,

And make you both Protectors of the Kingdom;

Rule you, while I wait only on Devotion.

Queen.

And now my Son, thy Inheritance is ſafe.

Prince.

May I be Happy in my Miſtreſs too.

Queen.

Ay, if the King conſent.

K. Hen.

With all my Heart.

War.

Thanks for this Honour, mighty Sovereign.

Who waits? Call in my Daughter, Lady Anne;

The Marriages ſhall both be ſuddenly,

For hourly I expect her Siſter here.

[45] Enter Lady Anne.

L. Anne.

Your Bleſſing, Sir.

War.

Welcome, my deareſt Daughter.

Henry.

Welcome, young Lady unto Henry's Court.

Prince.

[Gazing.]

At every View my Wounds bleed all afreſh.

Ye Powers! how her Charms

Steal through my Eyes, and fix upon my Heart.

Myriads of Cupids play within her Eyes,

A Thouſand Graces wait upon her Smiles,

And her whole Form conſiſts of lovely Charms.

Oh! I could gaze for ever on her Beauty.

Yet think it a ſhort Time, and rarely ſpent.

Queen.

Love, my dear Boy, has ſeiz'd your Heart betimes,

Prince.

What Heart ſo young, that muſt not feel her Power.

I've heard you ſay, Love was a boyiſh Paſſion;

Why do you wonder then it ſtrikes my Youth?

I cannot fancy now I am a Boy,

The Sight of her has warm'd me into Man.

Queen.

Peace, my young Ned, you make the Lady bluſh.

War.

Say, Daughter, if our Will deſire a Marriage

'Twixt you and this young Prince, Would you refuſe it?

L. Anne.

Sir, your Commands have e'er been ſacred to me,

Then do not think I'll now forget my Duty.

The Prince's Merit, and your precious Will,

Shall plead my Excuſe for my ſo ſoon complying:

And thereon I give my Hand to the young Prince.

Prince.

With raviſh'd Heart, and bended Knee I take it,

The extreameſt Bliſs my Soul could e'er deſire.

O Mother, do not wonder that my Words

Are full of Rapture, ſince my Heart is ſo:

She has Delights to raviſh every Senſe,

And my whole Soul diſſolves away in Love.

K. Hen.

Then let us in to celebrate your Nuptials,

And may Heaven proſper this your early Loves.

Prince.

Amen, ye Powers.

War.

And now what reſts, but in Night's Coverture,

Edward being careleſsly encamp'd,

His Soldiers lurking in the Town about,

And but attended by a ſimple Guard,

We may ſurprize and take him at our Pleaſure.

Our Scouts have found the Adventure very eaſy;

That as Ulyſſes, and ſtout Diomede,

[46] With Slight and Manhood ſtole to Rheſus' Tents,

And brought from thence the Thracian fatal Steeds.

So we, well cover'd with the Night's black Mantle,

At unawares may beat down Edward's Guard,

And ſeize his Perſon, but none attempt his Life.

You that will follow me to this Attempt,

Applaud the Name of Henry with your Leader.

[Shout.

Why then, let's on our Way in ſilent Sort,

For Henry and his Friends, Heaven and St. George.

[Exeunt.

Enter Guards.

Come on, my Maſters, each Man take his Stand,

The King by this is ſet him down to ſleep.

What, Will he not to Bed?

Why, no—For he hath made a ſolemn Vow,

Never to lye, and take his natural Reſt,

'Till Warwick, or himſelf, be quite ſuppreſt.

But ſay, I pray, What Nobleman is that,

That with the King here reſteth in his Tent?

'Tis the Lord Haſtings, the King's chiefeſt Friend.

Oh! is it ſo!—but why commands the King,

That his chief Followers lodge in Towns about him,

While he himſelf keeps in the cold Field.

'Tis the more Honour, becauſe the more Danger.

Ay, but give me Worſhip and Quietneſs,

I like it better than a dangerous Honour.

If Warwick knew in what Eſtate he ſtands,

'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.

Unleſs our Halbards did ſhut up his Paſſage.

Ay, Wherefore elſe guard we this royal Tent,

But to defend his Perſon from Night Foes.

Enter Warwick, with Soldiers.

War.

This is his Tent, and ſee where ſtands his Guard.

Courage, my Maſters, Honour now or never.

But follow me, and Edward ſhall be ours.

Who goes there?

Stay, or thou dy'ſt.

Warwick's Soldiers.

Warwick, Warwick.

[They fall upon the Guards, and kill them, then ruſh into the Tent, and bring out Edward.

Soldiers.

[47]

What are they that fly there?

War.

Richard and Haſtings, let them go; here is the Duke.

Edw.

Warwick, when we parted, thou call'dſt me King.

Warw.

When you diſgrac'd me in my Embaſſade,

Then I degraded you from being King,

And now am come to create you Duke of York.

Alas! how ſhould you govern any Kingdom,

That cannot uſe a Nobleman with Honour.

Who cannot be contented with one Wife.

Nor know you how to uſe your Brother Clarence;

Nor how to ſtudy for the People's Welfare;

Nor how to ſhrowd your ſelf from Enemies;

Nor how to ſet true Value on a Friend.

Edw.

Nay, then I ſee, that Edward needs muſt down.

Yet, Warwick, in deſpight of all Miſchance,

Edward will always bear himſelf as King:

Though Fortune's Malice overthrow my State,

My Mind exceeds the Compaſs of her Wheel.

War.

Then for his Mind, be Edward England's King,

But Henry now ſhall wear the Engliſh Crown,

And be true King indeed, thou but a Shadow.

I'll prove upon thee Warwick's Power is great.

Edw.

What Fates impoſe, poor Man muſt needs abide;

It boots not to reſiſt both Wind and Tide.

[Exeunt.

Enter Lady Grey, meeting a Gentleman.

L. G.

Now, Sir, tell me, what's the News with you.

Gent.

Pardon me, gracious Queen, the News I bring

Is full of Grief, and royal Edward's Loſſes.

L. G.

What of my Sovereign?

Gent.

He's taken Priſoner.

Either betray'd by Falſhood of his Guard,

Or by his Foes ſurpriz'd at unawares.

And as I further have to underſtand,

Is now committed to the Biſhop of York,

Fell Warwick's Brother, and by that our Foe.

L. G.

Alas! this News is full of Grief indeed.

Gent.

Yet, gracious Madam, bear it like your ſelf.

Warwick may loſe, that now hath won the Day.

L. G.

Till then fair Hope muſt hinder Life's Decay.

And I the rather wean me from Deſpair,

For Love of Edward's Offspring in my Womb.

'Tis this that makes me bridle in my Paſſion,

[48] And bear with Mildneſs my Misfortune croſs.

Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a Tear,

And ſtop the riſing of Blood-ſucking Sighs:

Left with my Sighs or Tears, I blaſt or drown

King Edward's Fruit, true Heir to th' Engliſh Crown.

Pray tell me, Where is Warwick then become?

Gent.

I am inform'd that he is gone towards London,

To guard King Henry, who is reinſtall'd.

L. G.

I gueſs the reſt, King Edward's Friends muſt down.

But to prevent the Tyrant's Violence,

For truſt not him who once hath broken Faith,;

I'll hence forthwith unto the Sanctuary,

To ſave, at leaſt, the Heir of Edward's Right.

There ſhall I reſt ſecure from Force and Fraud,

And all the Malice of imperious Warwick.

Come therefore let us fly, while we may fly,

If Warwick take us, we are ſure to dye.

[Exeunt.

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT V. SCENE I.

[49]

Enter King Henry, Prince Edward, Warwick, George, Queen, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Anne, and Attendants.

War.

GRacious Henry, lend Ear unto my Speech,

Since Heav'n approves your Reign in our Succeſs,

I think, my Liege, that it is more than needful,

Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a Traytor,

And all his Lands and Goods confiſcated.

And with your royal Leave, I ſpeak it, Henry,

That Clarence well deſerves thoſe forfeit Lands.

K. Hen.

I think

There's not a Thing I would deny Warwick,

Though Clarence's Merit did not prompt me to it.

War. Geo.

Accept our hearty Thanks, my royal Liege.

Geo.

And noble Warwick too accept my Thanks,

For the great Bleſſings you have given me.

Prince.

And take my Thanks, who wiſh I had more,

To give brave Warwick for my beauteous Bride.

War.

I wiſh her Merit were equal to your Love.

Prince.

She deſerves more than I can ever pay.

Queen.

Heaven grant your Loves may ever prove ſucceſsful.

[50]Enter a Meſſenger.

War.

What News, my Friend?

Meſſ.

Edward is eſcaped from your Brother.

And fled (as he hears ſince) to Burgundy.

War.

Unſavoury News! but how made he his Eſcape?

Meſſ.

He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloſter,

And the Lord Haſtings, who attended him

In ſecret Ambuſh on the Foreſt Side,

And from the Biſhop's Huntſmen reſcu'd him:

For hunting was his daily Exerciſe.

War.

My Brother was too careleſs of his Charge.

But let us haſten in, and call a Council,

And ſo determine quickly what's to do.

[Exeunt.

Geo.

So pleaſe you, Sir, I'll follow preſently.

Now I'm ſecure of Warwick's beauteous Daughter,

Why let the Devil take him with his Treaſon.

Perhaps he will object my ſacred Oath:

To keep that Oath were more Impiety,

Than Jephthab's when he ſacrific'd his Daughter.

And ſo, proud-hearted Warwick, fare thee well.

Be it your Care, Sir, on the firſt Opportunity,

To ſeize my lovely Bride, and follow me;

For I in private (leſt I ſhould meet Prevention)

Will haſten hence, to joyn my Brother Edward.

And in each Town, as I do paſs along,

I'll ſee and muſter Soldiers for his Service.

Gent.

Sir, I with Care will your Commands obey,

And if I fail, then take my forfeit Life.

Geo.

If you ſucceed, doubt not of great Reward.

[Exeunt.

Enter Edward, Richard, Gentlemen, and Attendants.

Edw.

Now, Brother Richard, and my noble Followers,

Yet thus far Fortune maketh us Amends,

And ſays, That once more I ſhall interchange

My wained State, for Henry's regal Crown.

Well have we paſs'd, and now repaſs'd the Seas,

And brought deſir'd Help from Burgundy.

Now ſay, How fares my faithful Brother?

Rich.

[51]

Why much the better for that faithful Title,

And if I Richard ever prove untrue,

May Heaven's Vengnance follow me to my Grave.

Edw.

Thanks, my dear Brother; and Thanks to all my Friends,

If Fortune ſerve me, I'll require this Kindneſs.

Now for this Night our T [...] ſhall here be pitch'd,

And when the Morning Sun ſhall raiſe his Carr

Above the Border of this Horizon,

We'll forward towards Warwick and his Mates:

For well I wot, that Henry is no Soldier.

Ah! froward [...], how ill doth it become thee,

To flatter Henry, and forſake thy Brother?

Yet as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.

Come on, brave Soldiers, doubt not of the Day.

And that once gotten, doubt not of large Pay.

[Exeunt.

Enter Henry, Queen, Warwick, Lady Anne, and At⯑tendants.

War.

What Counſel, Lords? Edward from Belgia,

With haſty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,

Hath paſs'd in Safety through the narrow Seas,

And with his Troops doth march [...] to London,

And many giddy People ſtock to him.

K. Hen.

Let's muſter Men, and beat him back again.

War.

My Liege ſpeaks well—I will about it ſtrait:

A little Fire is quickly trodden out,

Which being ſuffer'd, Rivers cannot quench.

I wonder what is now become of Clarence,

His Aid would be moſt needful at this Time.

K. Hen.

No doubt he's gone to do us ſpecial Service,

For he moſt ſolemnly hath ſworn me Friendſhip.

Queen.

Pray Heaven his Actions ſhall declare him ſo.

Enter Prince.

Whence come you, my Ned?

Prince.

I have been viewing

Our well-diſpoſed Troops, their chearful Looks;

Promiſe no leſs than glorious Victory.

Their Arms all ſhining bright appear a Sun;

[52] Their piercing Eyes, that ſparkle thro' their Helmets,

With a quick Motion ſpread a Fire around 'em,

And ſhow like Stars twinkling i'th' Firmament.

The Plumes and Colours waving o'er their Heads,

Do fan the Fire that has poſſeſs'd their Hearts.

Each prancing Horſe neighs Courage to his Rider,

And with their horned Hoofs they paw the Ground,

As they'd dig Graves for all our Enemies.

I am tranſported with the gallant Sight,

And my Breaſt burns, I ſo much long for War.

War.

Then your Deſires ſhall be ſatisfy'd,

For we will march to meet Edward this inſtant.

But hear you ought of Clarence, noble Prince?

Prince.

'Twas Part of what I would have told to you,

Had not your Words ſo ſoon cut off my Tale.

Clarence is fled to his Brother—he left Orders

With one (whom Threats and Gold has caus'd diſcover it)

To bring your Daughter Lady Elizabeth after.

War.

I will not waſte the Time in idle Words,

But ſpeedy Action ſhall declare my Rage.

Soon as I have giv'n ſome Orders to my Daughter,

I'll mount my Horſe, and with what Speed I may,

I'll haſten to chaſtiſe this perjur'd Clarence.

My Sovereign with the loving Citizens,

Like to his Iſland, girt with the Ocean,

Shall reſt in London, 'till we return.

K. Hen.

Farewel my Hector, and my Troy's true Hope,

Well-minded Warwick, be thou fortunate.

War.

In Sign of Truth, I kiſs your Highneſs' Hand,

Comfort, my Lord, and ſo I take my Leave.

K. Hen.

What, my young Edward, Wilt thou to theſe Wars?

Prince.

Why, who is he, whoſe Chin is but enrich'd

With one appearing Hair, that will not follow

Theſe choice and gallant Cavaliers to War.

K. Hen.

Why then I'll in, to pray for thy Succeſs,

My Prayers, and Bleſſing, ever ſhall attend thee:

Yet much I fear we ne'er ſhall meet again.

Queen.

Fear as you will, he ſhall unto the Field.

Be ſpeedy, Boy, for I'm reſolv'd to ſee thee,

Sure of a Crown, or dying at my Feet.

Prince.

My Heart has here a little Leave to take,

And then I follow.

[Exeunt. Manent Prince and Anne.

[53] Oh, my beauteous Anne!

The Battle bids me leave thee for a while,

But fluſh'd with Conqueſt ſoon I will return,

And lay my dear bought Laurels at thy Feet.

By Heav'n, I think I cou'd perſwade my Father

To reſign his Crown for ever to proud York,

So I might reſt within thy lovely Fold,

Secure of Peace, and undiſturb'd by War.

But that the Thoughts of making thee a Queen,

Awakes my Soul, and ſummons it to Arms:

Yet if I fall, which gracious Heav'n forbid,

For now, methinks, I am ev'n fond of Life,

(Having taſted of the Bliſs of thy ſweet Love)

Tho' I before thought of it as a Trifle.

The Loſs of Life ſeems but of little Moment

When I reflect upon the Loſs of thee.

And when the horrid Thought comes in my Mind,

I leave behind my Soul's deareſt Treaſure

For other happy Men, perhaps, to enjoy.

Then Sweet, I beg of thee this once to ſwear,

Thou never wilt have thought of other Man.

L. A.

Why, my dear Lord, do you then doubt my Truth?

Prince.

Oh no, by Heaven—but I wou'd have my Ear

Bleſt with the Muſick of thy melting Voice,

In Words of Comfort, e'er I do depart,

That if the Almighty Power's gracious Will

Is ſo determin'd, I muſt fall in Battle,

I may have Hopes our ſpotleſs Souls, through Love

And Conſtancy, may meet in Heav'n hereafter,

And ſpite of War we may again be Happy.

L. A.

Then hear me, gracious Heav'n, and aſſiſt me,

To keep the Vow I ſolemnly do make.

If it ſeems ſitting in the Eye of Heav'n,

My precious Edward in this War ſhould fall,

May Heav'n forſake me at my lateſt Hour,

If I e'er taſte of Joy, or Comfort more.

And if my Heart ſhou'd e'er ſwerve from Truth,

May all the bitter Pangs of a rack'd Conſcience

Purſue me here, and in the World to come:

And oh! ye mighty Guardians of the Juſt,

Protect his Youth i'- th' deadly brunt of War,

And ſend my Yew home adorn'd in Triumph.

[54] Edward, my Love, be careful of thy Life,

For if thou dy'ſt, thy loving Anne falls with thee.

Prince.

This is too much for Mortal to ſupport,

How ſhall I bear this vaſt Exceſs of Bliſs?

Surely I cannot have long time to live,

My Joys flow in ſo faſt this preſent Hour.

But let Fate do its worſt, this pays for all.

Oh, my Heart's Joy, if Edward e'er prove falſe,

May Heav'n inflict its deadlieſt Vengeance on me.

Hark, my Love,

[Trumpets ſound.

The cheerful Trumpet calls me to the Field,

My Heart e'en dances to its ſpritely Notes;

This one Embrace, and then farewel my Anne.

Adieu thou deareſt, thou excelling Creature,

Now I am certain Fate it ſelf can't part us.

Let Death ſtand in its worſt Form array'd,

I will not entertain a Thought of Fear,

But warm'd by thee, my Life, bravely I'll on,

To aſſert my lawful Title to the Crown.

By this Day's Feats in Battle I will prove,

What Youth dare do for Empire, and for Love.

[Exit.

Enter Lady Elizabeth.

L. E.

Oh Anne! now ſhow thy ſelf a loving Siſter,

And ſend Elizabeth Supply of Tears,

For mine will ne'er ſuffice for my great Sorrow.

L. A.

Alas, from whence proceeds this ſudden Grief!

L. E.

Is not our Father Warwick gone to fight

Againſt King Edward, and my Husband Clarence,

And can'ſt thou aſk the Occaſion of theſe Tears;

Let who will conquer, ſtill thy Siſter mourns,

Or for her murder'd Father, or her Husband.

L. A.

Why, let his Treaſon wipe away his Love.

L. E.

Oh, he's too deeply rooted in my Heart!

Be witneſs Heav'n, I had never lov'd him,

Had not my noble Father firſt commanded.

I plainly ſaw, when he did leave King Edward,

It was his Love for me did prompt him on.

Why have I not the Power to keep him here?

Oh, now he has got Poſſeſſion of my Perſon,

He, like a Tyrant, gives his Will free way!

[55] My Father does command that I ſhou'd hate him,

I, out of Duty to my worthy Father,

Wou'd hate him much, but that my Heart pleads hard,

And will not turn him forth from out my Boſom.

L. A.

Why then, indulge thy Sorrows, dear Eliza,

For I will be thy very faithful Friend,

And ſend forth Sigh for Sigh, and Tear for Tear.

Thy State, indeed, deſerves extremeſt Pity,

Since thy great Sorrow is paſt hope of Cure,

Unleſs the Saints, in pity to thy Woes,

Shou'd ſend ſome Miracle to end thy Grief.

L. E.

The only Way to prove thy ſelf my Friend,

Is to contrive how to increaſe my Sorrow;

For when I find that 'tis in Human Nature

To ſuffer more, it may avail a little

To ſtop the Torrent of my flowing Tears,

But I am ſure that is impoſſible.

Whene'er I ſtrive to preſs a riſing Sigh,

My Heart e'en burſts to give it a free Paſſage.

L. A.

Let them have Scope, tho' what they do import

Help nothing elſe, yet do they eaſe the Heart.

[Exit.

Enter Queen, Prince, Warwick, and Soldiers.

Queen.

Thus far with Speed, and eaſy March, we are come,

Now let us doff our ſilken Robes of Peace,

And arm our Minds and Bodies for fell War;

Stiffen the Sinews, ſummon up the Blood,

Diſguiſe fair Nature with hard favour'd Rage,

And lend the Eye a terrible Aſpect;

Now ſet the Teeth, and ſtretch the Noſtril wide;

Hold hard the Breath, and rouze up e'ery Spirit

To its full Height. On, on, you nobleſt Engliſh,

Whoſe Blood is fetch'd from Fathers of War Proof,

Fathers, that like ſo many Alexanders,

Have in theſe Parts from Morn till Evening fought,

And ſheath'd their Swords for lack of Argument.

Diſhonour not your Mothers; now arreſt,

That thoſe whom you call'd Fathers did beget you.

Be Copy now, to Men of groſſer Blood,

And teach 'em how to War. And you, good Yeomen,

Whoſe Limbs were made in England, ſhew us now

The Mettle of your Paſture. Let us ſwear

[56] That you are worth your Breeding, which I doubt not,

For there is none of you ſo Mean and Baſe,

That hath not noble Luſtre in your Eyes.

I ſee you ſtand like Grey-Hounds in the Slips,

Straining upon the Start, the Games o' Foot,

Follow your Spirit, and upon 'em Charge.

Oh, were I but a Man, that I by Deeds

Might ſtir your Hearts more than my poor Words can!

Prince.

Methinks a Woman of this valiant Spirit,

Shou'd, if a Coward heard her ſpeak theſe Words,

Infuſe his Breaſt with Magnanimity,

And make him, naked, foil a Man at Arms.

I ſpeak not this as Doubting any here,

For did I but ſuſpect a fearful Man,

He ſhou'd have leave to go away betimes,

Leſt in our Need he might infect another,

And make him of baſe Spirit, like himſelf.

If any ſuch be here, which Heav'n forbid,

Let him depart before we need his Help.

War.

Women and Children of ſo high a Courage,

And Warriors faint, why, 'twere perpetual Shame.

Oh brave young Prince—thy famous Grandfather

Doth live again in thee: Long may'ſt thou live

To bear his Image, and renew his Glories.

And he that will not fight for ſuch a Hope,

Go home to Bed, and like the Owl by Day,

If he ariſe, be mock'd, and wonder'd at.

Queen.

Thanks noble General, brave Warwick Thanks.

Prince.

And take his Thanks, that yet hath nothing elſe.

Enter Meſſenger.

Meſſ.

Prepare you Chiefs, for Edward is at Hand,

Ready to fight, therefore be reſolute.

War.

I thought no leſs; it is his Policy,

To haſte thus faſt to find us unprovided,

But he's deceiv'd, we are in Readineſs.

Queen.

This cheers my Heart to ſee your Forwardneſs.

Meſſ.

I am ſorry, but I have more News to tell,

Royal Henry, by a Party of Duke Edward's,

In London was ſurpriz'd, and now is kept

Cloſe Priſoner in the Tower.

Queen.

[55]

Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I ſhould ſay

My Tears gainſay, for e'ery Word I ſpeak

Ye ſee I drink the Water of my Eye.

Therefore no more but this—Henry, your Sovereign,

Is Priſoner to the Foe, his State uſurp'd,

His Realm a Slaughter-houſe, his Subjects ſlain,

His Statutes cancell'd, and his Treaſure ſpent,

And yonder is the Wolf that makes this Spoil.

You fight in Juſtice; then in Heav'n's Name, Lords,

Be valiant, and give ſignal to the Fight.

War.

Follow me all, for I will lead you on

To glorious Deeds of War in Juſtice's Cauſe.

[Exeunt, Alarm, &c.

Re-enter Warwick and Prince Edward.

War.

Oh young Prince Edward, I had pleaſing Hope

To tutor thee in Stratagems of War;

But now thou'rt come unto a Feaſt of Death,

A terrible and unavoided Danger!

Therefore, dear Prince, mount on thy ſwifteſt Horſe,

And I'll direct thee how thou may'ſt eſcape,

For I have ſnatch'd thee from the Jaws of Death.

Prince.

The Swords of Rebels have not made me ſmart;

Theſe Words of yours draw Life-blood from my Heart.

Before young Edward (of great Henry's Race,

Who conquer'd France, and made her Chiefs to tremble)

Relinquiſh Warwick in the Heat of War,

I'll ſlay each Horſe I have within the Field,

Then, worthy Chief, loſe not a Thought on me,

But to thy Sword-hack'd Soldiers ſtrait return,

And with thy wond'rous Deeds (too great for Words)

Animate thy Troops. I pray you, haſte away,

Thy Preſence only makes 'em win the Day.

War.

Conſult thy Safety, Prince, and leave the Field.

[Exit.

Prince.

I ſhall conſult my honourable Fame.

Fell Havock now rages through all the Hoſts;

The nodding Plumes that grac'd our Soldiers Helms,

Are ſhiver'd all; and all beſmear'd with Blood:

Their Arms and Armour hack'd with luſty Blows,

And the whole Fight diſplays a general Terror.

The Sight is dreadful! but 'tis glorious too!

[56] Shall I now baſely ſhrink? No, Heaven forbid.

Love draws my Sword, Revenge ſhall ſteel its Point;

A Crown and Royalty ſhall man my Breaſt.

I'm reſolute to die, or to return

A Conqueror worthy of my Anna's Bed:

And when ſucceeding Ages read my Deeds,

They ſhall not ſay they ſham'd our Britiſh Annals.

Ha! Richard here! Nay, then rouſe up my Soul.

Enter Richard oppoſite to the Prince.

Rich.

Hence Stripling, for I am loth to ſlain my Sword

Diſhonourably in the Blood of Boys.

Tho' curſed Clifford cou'd dip both his Hands

In the more precious Heart's Blood of young Rutland,

I'm above thoſe poor Deeds—yet now I think

It were great Folly ſhou'd I let thee go:

Since if thy uſurping Father's Friends ſhou'd conquer,

Thou art his Heir—tho' I will not kill thee,

But whip thee, thou raſh Boy, into Submiſſion.

Prince.

Theſe Words provoke me—no Richard, tho' I'm a Youth,

The Blood of Engliſh Kings runs in theſe Veins,

And I am a Stranger to all Sorts of Fear.

E'er I will yield I'll ſplit my Breaſt with Courage,

And I'll ſtrain hard each Sinew and each Nerve,

That I may be an equal Match to meet

This mighty Bugbear Richard, ſo come on.

Rich.

Now, by my Life, brave Youth, thou'rt worth my Sword,

And ſince thou art ſo fond of Death, receive it.

[They approach to fight. Enter a Party on both Sides. Richard's beats off the others.

Enter Edward and Warwick, fighting. He falls.

Edw.

So, lie thou there—die thou, and die our Fear;

Now I am King of England, and I owe

My Crown to my own Sword, and not to thine.

Now Montague, fit faſt, I ſeek for thee,

That Warwick's Bones may keep thine Company.

[Exit.

War.

Ah, who is nigh—come to me Friend or Foe

And tell me who is Victor, York or Warwick.

[57] Why aſk I that? my mangled Body ſhews

My Blood, my want of Strength, and my ſick Heart,

That I muſt yield my Body to the Earth,

And by my Fall, the Conqueſt to my Foe.

Thus yields the Cedar to the Axe's Edge,

Whoſe Arms gave Shelter to the princely Eagle;

Under whoſe Shade the ramping Lion ſlept,

Whoſe top Branch overpeer'd Jove's ſpreading Tree,

And kept low Shrubs from Winter's powerful Wind.

Theſe Eyes, that now are dim'd with Death's black Veil,

Have been as piercing as the Mid-day Sun,

To ſearch the ſecret Treaſons of the World.

The Wrinkles of my Brows now fill'd with Blood,

Were lik'ned oft to kingly Sepulchres,

For who liv'd King, but I could dig his Grave;

And who durſt ſmile, when Warwick bent his Brow?

Lo, now my Glory ſmear'd in Duſt and Blood!

My Parks, my Walks, my Mannors, that I had,

E'en now forſake me, and of all my Lands,

Is nothing left me but my Body's length.

Why, what is Pomp, Rule, Reign, but Earth and Daſt,

And live we how we can, yet die we muſt.

[Dies.

Enter Edward, George, Richard, and Soldiers.

Edw.

Thus far our Fortune keeps an upward Courſe,

And we are grac'd with Wreaths of Victory.

Geo.

Now, Sir, I hope you will forgive my Errors,

For you your ſelf have felt the Power of Love.

Edw.

Brother, your Errors are all buried under

Heaps of my Enemies you have kill'd to Day.

I have diſpatch'd my greateſt Enemy.

Warwick will make and unmake no more Kings.

Rich.

And the bold Amazon Queen, and inſolent Boy,

Her fierce Son Edward, are both taken Priſoners.

I've order'd, Sir, they ſhall attend you here;

And now behold where youthful Edward comes.

Enter Queen and Prince, Priſoners.

Edw.

Bring forth the Gallant, let us hear him ſpeak.

What, can ſo young a Thorn begin to prick?

Edward,

What Satisfaction canſt thou make,

[58] For bearing Arms, for ſtirring up my Subjects,

And all the Trouble thou haſt giv'n me?

Prince.

Speak like a Subject, proud, ambitious York;

Suppoſe that I am now my Father's Mouth;

Reſign thy Place, and where I ſtand, kneel thou,

Whilſt I propoſe the ſelf ſame Words to thee,

Which, Traytor, thou would'ſt have me anſwer to.

Queen.

Oh that thy Father had been ſo reſolv'd!

Rich.

That ſo your Diſtaff might have been our Sceptre.

Prince.

Let Aeſop fable in a Winter's Night,

His curriſh Riddles forth, not at this Time.

Rich.

By Heav'n, Brat, I'll plague you for that Word.

Queen.

Ay, thou wer't born to be the Plague of Men.

Rich.

Why take you not away this Captive Scold?

Prince.

Nay, take away this ſcolding Crook-back rather.

Edw.

Peace, wilful Boy, or I will charm thy Tongue.

Prince.

I know my Duty—you are all undutiful.

Laſcivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George,

And thou miſ-ſhapen Dick, I tell ye all,

I am your Betters, Traytors as you are,

And thou uſurp'ſt my Father's Right and mine.

Edw.

Untutor'd Lad, thou art too malapert

[Edw. ſtrikes him.

Rich.

Take that, thou Likeneſs of this Railer here.

They ſtab him.

Geo.

And there's for twitting me with Perjury.

They ſtab him.

Queen.

Oh, kill me too!

Rich.

Marry, with all my Heart.

Edw.

Hold Richard, we've done too much already.

Rich.

Why ſhou'd ſhe live to fill the World with Strife?

Edw.

Behold ſhe ſwoons, uſe Means for her Recovery.

Rich.

Clarence, excuſe me to the King my Brother,

I'll hence to London on a ſerious Matter.

E'er you come there, be ſure to hear ſome News.

Geo.

Why, whither go you?

Rich.

To the Tower, the Tower.

[Exit.

Queen.

Oh Ned, ſweet Ned, ſpeak to thy Mother, Boy:

Canſt thou not ſpeak?—O Traytors! Murderers!

They that ſtabb'd Caeſar, ſhed no Blood at all;

Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame.

If this foul Deed were by, to equal it:

He was a Man, this in reſpect a Child,

And Men ne'er ſpend their Fury on a Child.

What's worſe than Murderer, that I may name it?

No, no, my Heart will burſt, and if I ſpeak,

[59] And I will ſpeak, that ſo my Heart may burſt.

Oh cruel Villains! bloody Cannibals!

How ſweet a Plant have you untimely cropp'd?

You have no Children, Butchers, if you had,

The Thought of them wou'd have ſtir'd up Remorſe;

But if you ever chance to have a Child,

Look in his Youth to have him ſo cut off.

As Death's Men you have rid this ſweet young Prince.

Edw.

Away with her. Go, bear her hence by force.

Queen.

Nay, never bear me hence, diſpatch me here,

Here ſheath thy Sword, I'll pardon thee my Death.

What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.

Geo.

By Heav'n I will not give thee ſo much Eaſe.

Queen.

Good Clarence do, ſweet Clarence do thou do it.

Geo.

Didſt thou not hear me ſwear I wou'd not do it.

Queen.

Ay, but thou uſeſt to forſwear thy ſelf.

'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity.

What, wilt thou not; where is that Butcher Richard?

He is not here, or he wou'd grant my Suit,

And ſet me free from hated Light at once.

Edw.

Away, I ſay, I charge you bear her hence.

Queen.

So come to you and yours as to this Prince.

[Exit.

Edw.

Where's Richard gone.

Geo.

To London in great haſte, and, as I gueſs,

To make a bloody Supper in the Tower.

Edw.

He's ſudden if a Thing comes in his Head.

Now march we hence—diſcharge the common ſort

With Pay and Thanks, and let's away to London,

And ſee how well our gentle Queen does fare:

By this I hope ſhe hath a Son for me.

Now here's a Period of tumultuous Broils.

Once more we fit on England's Royal Throne,

Re-purchas'd with the Blood of Enemies.

What valiant Foe-Men, like to Autumn's Corn,

Have we mow'd down in top of all her Pride.

Three Dukes of Somerſet, threefold renown'd

For hardy and undoubted Champions.

Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Son.

And two Northumberlands; two braver Men,

Ne'er ſpur'd their Courſers at the Trumpet's Sound.

With them the two brave Bears, Warwick and Mountague,

That in their Chains fetter'd the kingly Lion,

And made the Foreſt tremble when they roar'd.

[60] Thus have we ſwept Suſpicion from our Seat,

And made our Footſtool of Security.

Geo.

What will your Grace have done with Margaret?

Edw.

Away with her, and waft her hence to France.

And then what reſts, but that we ſpend the Time

With ſtately Triumphs, mirthful Comick Shews,

Such as befit the Pleaſure of the Court,

So to divert our Subjects buſy Minds,

From doing farther Miſchief 'gainſt the State.

Sound Drums and Trumpets, farewel all Annoy,
For here, I hope, begins our laſting Joy.
And may this Land, learn from our Houſes Jars,
Ever to dread th' Event of Civil Wars.

END.

Appendix A BOOKS lately printed, for J. WALTHOE, jun. W. CHETWOOD, and J. STAGG.

[]

I. THE Adventures of TELEMACHUS, the Son of Ulyſſes. Written in French by the Archbiſhop of CAMBRAY, and tranſlated into Engliſh by Mr. LITTLEBURY. The Eleventh Edition. Adorn'd with 25 Copper Plates; and the Author's Effigies, curiouſly engrav'd by Mr. Vertue. To which is like⯑wiſe added, An Alphabetical INDEX to each Volume.
II. Dialogues concerning ELOQUENCE. By the late Arch⯑biſhop of CAMBRAY.
With his Letter to the French Academy, concerning Rheto⯑rick, Poetry, Hiſtory; and a Compariſon betwixt the Anti⯑ents and Moderns.

Tranſlated from the French, and illuſtrated with Notes and Quotations, by WILLIAM STEVENSON, M. A. Rector of Morningthorp, in Norfolk.
III. FEMALE FALSHOOD: Or, The Life and Adventures of a late French Nobleman. Written by himſelf, after his Retirement, and digeſted by Monſ. de St. EVREMOND. "The Inſtructions in this Book regard not ſolely the Commerce with Women, but will be found to extend to every Thing that hath relation to the Conduct and Buſineſs of a Man who converſes with the World."
The THIRD EDITION, revis'd, corrected, and handſomly. Printed in two Pocket Volumes.
IV. T. LUCRETIUS CARUS, of the Nature of Things. Done into Engliſh Verſe, by THOMAS CREECH, M. A. Two Vols. 8vo.
—Here LUCRETIUS whole we find,

His Words, his Muſick, and his Mind;

Thy Art has to our Country brought

All that he writ, and all he thought.

N. B. There are ſome few printed on large Paper.
[] V. The Laws of Poetry; being a Critical Commentary on the Duke of BUCKINGHAM'S Eſſay on Poetry; and the Earl of ROSCOMON'S Eſſay on tranſlated Verſe; with Notes upon the Lord LANSDOWNE'S Poem on Unnatural Flights in Poetry. Written by his Lordſhip. The Commentary written by Mr. CHARLES GILDON, and revis'd by his Grace the late Duke of BUCKINGHAM.
Roſcomon firſt, then Mulgrave roſe like Light,

To clear our Darkneſs, and to guide our Flight;

With ſteddy Judgment, and in lofty Sounds,

They gave us Patterns, and they ſet us Bounds:

Who ſeek from Poetry a laſting Name,

May in their Leſſons learn the Road to Fame.

Lord LANSDOWNE.
VI. The Fortunes, and Misfortunes, of the Famous Moll Flanders, who was born in Newgate, and during a Life of conti⯑nual Variety for Threeſcore Years (beſides her Childhood) was twelve Years a Whore, five Times a Wife (whereof once to her own Brother) twelve Years a Thief, eight Years a tranſported Felon in Virginia; at laſt grew Rich, liv'd Ho⯑neſt, and died a Penitent. Written from her own Memoran⯑dums. Price 5s.
VII. An impartial Hiſtory of the LIFE and ACTIONS of Peter Alexowitz, the preſent CZAR of Muſcovy, from his Birth, down to this preſent Time. Giving an Account of his Tra⯑vels, and Tranſactions, in the ſeveral Courts of Europe. With his Attempts and Succeſſes, in the Northern and Eaſtern Parts of the World. In which is intermix'd, The Hiſtory of Muſcovy. Price 5s.
VIII. The Travels and Adventures of the Three Princes of Sarendip, interſpers'd with Novels. Illuſtrated with Eight Copper Plates.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 3993 An historical tragedy of the civil wars in the reign of King Henry VI Being a sequel to the Tragedy of Humfrey Duke of Gloucester and a introduction to the Tragical history of King Richard III A. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D462-D