Therefore--
RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death!
Kneels?
To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me!
CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's37 point affords.
RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?
CLIFFORD Thy father hath.
RUTLAND But 'twas ere40 I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me,
Lest in revenge thereof, sith42 God is just,
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days,
And when I give occasion45 of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
CLIFFORD No cause?
Thy father slew my father: therefore, die.
Stabs him
Dies
RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae49!
CLIFFORD Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both.
Exit
[Act 1 Scene 4]
running scene 3 continues
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York
YORK The army of the queen hath got1 the field.
My uncles2 both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager3 foe
Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons, God knows what hath bechanced6 them:
But this I know, they have demeaned7 themselves
Like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane9 to me,
And thrice cried 'Courage, father, fight it out!'
And full as oft11 came Edward to my side,
With purple falchion12, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encountered13 him.
And when the hardiest14 warriors did retire,
Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!'
And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb,
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
With this we charged again, but, out, alas18,
We bodged19 again, as I have seen a swan
With bootless20 labour swim against the tide
And spend her strength with overmatching21 waves.
A short alarum within
Ah, hark, the fatal22 followers do pursue,
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury.
And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
The sands25 are numbered that makes up my life.
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince and Soldiers
Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
I am your butt, and I abide29 your shot.
NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment32, showed unto my father.
Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car33,
And made an evening at the noontide prick34.
YORK My ashes, as the phoenix35, may bring forth
A bird36 that will revenge upon you all.
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? What, multitudes and fear39?
CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further,
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons,
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives gainst the officers.
YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee44 once again,
An in thy thought o'er-run45 my former time:
An if thou canst for46 blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!
CLIFFORD I will not bandy49 with thee word for word,
But buckler50 with thee blows, twice two for one.
QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford, for a thousand causes51
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.--
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much
To prick thy finger, though to55 wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin56,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn58 him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages59,
They seize York, who struggles
And ten to one is no impeach of valour60.
CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin61.
NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony62 struggle in the net.
YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty,
So true64 men yield, with robbers so o'ermatched.
NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now?
QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
That raught68 at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted69 but the shadow with his hand.--
To York
What, was it you that would be England's king?
Was't you that revelled71 in our parliament,
And made a preachment72 of your high descent?
Where are your mess73 of sons to back you now,
The wanton Edward and the lusty74 George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy75,
Dicky, your boy, that with his grumbling76 voice
Was wont77 to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York, I stained this napkin79 with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue81 from the bosom of the boy.
And if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal83.
Alas poor York, but84 that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I prithee86 grieve to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails87
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad.
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave and fret91, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport92.
York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him.
Puts a paper crown on his head
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
Ay, marry96, sir, now looks he like a king.
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair97,
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king
Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale103 your head in Henry's glory.
And rob his temples of the diadem104,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
Off with the crown, and with the crown his head.
And whilst we breathe108, take time to do him dead.
CLIFFORD That is my office109, for my father's sake.
QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay, let's hear the orisons110 he makes.
YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
How ill-beseeming113 is it in thy sex
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull114,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates115!
But that thy face is vizard-like116, unchanging,
Made impudent with use117 of evil deeds,
I would assay118, proud queen, to make thee blush.
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom derived119,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
Thy father bears the type121 of King of Naples,
Of both the Sicils122 and Jerusalem,
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman123.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult124?
It needs not, nor it boots125 thee not, proud queen,
Unless the adage126 must be verified,
That beggars mounted127 run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud,
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small.
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired,
The contrary doth make thee wondered131 at.
'Tis government132 that makes them seem divine,
The want thereof makes thee abominable133.
Thou art as opposite to every good
As the Antipodes135 are unto us,
Or as the south to the Septentrion136.
O, tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal139,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible141;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough142, remorseless.
Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish.
Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will.
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies147,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false149 Frenchwoman.
NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew150 me, but his passions moves me so
That hardly can I check151 my eyes from tears.
YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood.
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania155.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless156 father's tears.
This cloth thou dipped'st 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 heavy160 story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears.
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say 'Alas, it was a piteous163 deed!'
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my curse.
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand.
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads.
NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughterman to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes171 his soul.
QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe172, my lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Stabs him twice
CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
Stabs him
QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted176 king.
YORK Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God.
Dies
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head and set it on York gates,
So York may overlook the town of York.
Flourish. Exeunt [with the body]
[Act 2 Scene 1]
running scene 4
A march. Enter Edward, Richard and their power
EDWARD I wonder how our princely father scaped,
Or whether he be scaped away or no
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit?
Had he been ta'en4, we should have heard the news:
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news:
Or had he scaped, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?
RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved9
Where our right valiant father is become10.
I saw him in the battle range11 about
And watched him how he singled Clifford forth12.
Methought he bore him13 in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat14,
Or as a bear encompassed round with dogs,
Who having pinched16 a few and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof17, and bark at him.
So fared our father with his enemies,
So fled his enemies my warlike father.
Three suns appear
Methinks, 'tis prize20 enough to be his son.
See how the morning opes21 her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimmed like a younker prancing24 to his love.
EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns25?
RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun,
Not separated with the racking27 clouds,
But severed28 in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see: they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vowed some league inviolable.
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures32 some event.
EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think it cites34 us, brother, to the field,
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds36,
Should notwithstanding join our lights together
And overshine the earth, as this38 the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target40 three fair-shining suns.
RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters41: by your leave, I speak it,
You love the breeder42 better than the male.
Enter one [a Messenger] blowing
But what art thou, whose heavy43 looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
MESSENGER Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
Whenas46 the noble Duke of York was slain,
Your princely father and my loving lord!
EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.
RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
MESSENGER Environed50 he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy51
Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy.
But Hercules53 himself must yield to odds,
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak.
By many hands your father was subdued,
But only slaughtered by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite59,
Laughed in his face, and when with grief he wept,
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steeped in the harmless62 blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough63 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 I viewed.
[Exit]
EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay69.
O Clifford, boist'rous70 Clifford, thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry,
And treacherously hast thou vanquished him,
For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee.
Now my soul's palace74 is become a prison.
Ah, would she75 break from hence, that this my body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest,
For never henceforth shall I joy again:
Never, O, never, shall I see more joy78!
RICHARD 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 selfsame wind82 that I should speak withal
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,
And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me.
Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge87 thy death,
Or die renowned by attempting it.
EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee:
His dukedom and his chair90 with me is left.
RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Show thy descent by gazing gainst the sun92.
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say,
Either that94 is thine, or else thou wert not his.
March. Enter Warwick, Marquis [of]. Montague and their army
WARWICK How now, fair lords? What fare? What news abroad95?
RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful97 news, and at each word's deliverance
Stab poniards98 in our flesh till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O, valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!
EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick, that Plantagenet
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern103 Lord Clifford done to death.
WARWICK Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears,
And now, to add more measure105 to your woes,