Act II
Scene I
A plain near Mortimer’s Cross in Herefordshire.
A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power. | |
Edward |
I wonder how our princely father ’scaped,
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Richard |
I cannot joy, until I be resolved
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Edward | Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? |
Richard |
Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
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Edward |
’Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
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Richard |
Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
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Enter a Messenger. | |
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
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Messenger |
Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
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Edward | O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. |
Richard | Say how he died, for I will hear it all. |
Messenger |
Environed he was with many foes,
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Edward |
Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
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Richard |
I cannot weep; for all my body’s moisture
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Edward |
His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
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Richard |
Nay, if thou be that princely eagle’s bird,
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March. Enter Warwick, Marquess of Montague, and their army. | |
Warwick | How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? |
Richard |
Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
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Edward |
O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,
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Warwick |
Ten days ago I drown’d these news in tears;
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Edward |
Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
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Warwick |
Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
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Richard |
’Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
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Warwick |
Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
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Richard |
I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:
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Warwick |
Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
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Richard |
Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:
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Edward |
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
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Warwick |
No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
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Richard |
Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
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Edward | Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! |
Enter a Messenger. | |
Warwick | How now! what news? |
Messenger |
The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
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Warwick | Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let’s away. Exeunt. |
Scene II
Before York.
Flourish. Enter King, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Whales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with drum and trumpets. | |
Queen Margaret |
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
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King Henry |
Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
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Clifford |
My gracious liege, this too much lenity
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King Henry |
Full well hath Clifford play’d the orator,
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Queen Margaret |
My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh,
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King Henry |
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
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Prince |
My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
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Clifford | Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. |
Enter a Messenger. | |
Messenger |
Royal commanders, be in readiness:
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Clifford |
I would your highness would depart the field:
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Queen Margaret | Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. |
King Henry | Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay. |
Northumberland | Be it with resolution then to fight. |
Prince |
My royal father, cheer these noble lords
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March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. | |
Edward |
Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
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Queen Margaret |
Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
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Edward |
I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
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Clifford |
And reason too:
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Richard | Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! |
Clifford |
Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
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Richard | ’Twas you that kill’d young Rutland, was it not? |
Clifford | Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. |
Richard | For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight. |
Warwick | What say’st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? |
Queen Margaret |
Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak?
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Warwick | Then ’twas my turn to fly, and now ’tis thine. |
Clifford | You said so much before, and yet you fled. |
Warwick | ’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. |
Northumberland | No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. |
Richard |
Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
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Clifford | I slew thy father, call’st thou him a child? |
Richard |
Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
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King Henry | Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. |
Queen Margaret | Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. |
King Henry |
I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:
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Clifford |
My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
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Richard |
Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword:
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Edward |
Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
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Warwick |
If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
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Prince |
If that be right which Warwick says is right,
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Richard |
Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
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Queen Margaret |
But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
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Richard |
Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
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Edward |
A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,
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George |
But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
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Edward |
And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
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Queen Margaret | Stay, Edward. |
Edward |
No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay:
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Scene III
A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick. | |
Warwick |
Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
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Enter Edward, running. | |
Edward |
Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
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Warwick | How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? |
Enter George. | |
George |
Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
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Edward |
Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
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Enter Richard. | |
Richard |
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
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Warwick |
Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
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Edward |
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
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Richard |
Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,
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Warwick | Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. |
George |
Yet let us all together to our troops,
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Scene IV
Another part of the field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. | |
Richard |
Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
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Clifford |
Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
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Richard |
Nay Warwick, single out some other chase;
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Scene V
Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter King Henry alone. | |
King Henry |
This battle fares like to the morning’s war,
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Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body. | |
Son |
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
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King Henry |
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
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Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body. | |
Father |
Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
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King Henry |
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
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Son |
How will my mother for a father’s death
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Father |
How will my wife for slaughter of my son
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King Henry |
How will the country for these woeful chances
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Son | Was ever son so rued a father’s death? |
Father | Was ever father so bemoan’d his son? |
King Henry |
Was ever king so grieved for subjects’ woe?
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Son | I’ll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body. |
Father |
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
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King Henry |
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
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Alarums: excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, the Prince, and Exeter. | |
Prince |
Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
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Queen Margaret |
Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:
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Exeter |
Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
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King Henry |
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
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Scene VI
Another part of the field.
A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. | |
Clifford |
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
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Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. | |
Edward |
Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
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Warwick |
No, ’tis impossible he should escape;
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Edward | Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? |
Richard | A deadly groan, like life and death’s departing. |
Edward |
See who it is: and, now the battle’s ended,
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Richard |
Revoke that doom of mercy, for ’tis Clifford;
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Warwick |
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
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Edward |
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
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Warwick |
I think his understanding is bereft.
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Richard |
O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
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George | If so thou think’st, vex him with eager words. |
Richard | Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. |
Edward | Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. |
Warwick | Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. |
George | While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. |
Richard | Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. |
Edward | Thou pitied’st Rutland; I will pity thee. |
George | Where’s Captain Margaret, to fence you now? |
Warwick | They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. |
Richard |
What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
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Warwick |
Ay, but he’s dead: off with the traitor’s head,
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Edward |
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
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Richard |
Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
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Warwick |
Tut, that’s a foolish observation:
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