« ForrigeFortsett »
Tork. The deadly handed Clifford flew my
War. Of one or both of us the time is come.
York. Hold Warwick; feck thee out fome other Chase, For I my felf 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 unaffail'd.
Why doft thou paufe?
York. With thy brave bearing fhould I be in love, But that thou art fo faft mine Enemy.
Clif. Nor fhould thy Prowefs want praise and efteem, But that 'tis fhewn ignobly, and in Treafon.
York. So let it help me now against thy Sword,
Clif. My Soul and Body on the Action both.
York. Thus War hath given thee Peace, for thou art still; Peace with his Soul, Heav'n, if it be thy will.
Enter young Clifford.
T.Clif. Shame and Confufion, all is on the rout,
Hot Coals of Vengeance. Let no Soldiers flie.
Hath no Self-love; nor he that loves himself,
To cease. Waft thou ordained, O dear Fathers
And in thy Reverence, and thy Chair-days, thus
Enter Richard Plantagenet, and Somerset to fight.
Fight. Excurfions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others.
Q. Mar. Away my Lord, you are flow, for fhame a
K. Henry. Can we out-run the Heav'n's? Good Margarèt stay.
Q. Ma. What are you made of? You'll not fight nor fly: Now is it Manhood, Wisdom, and Defence, To give the Enemy way, and to fecure us By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off. If
If you be ta'en, we then should fee the bottom
And where this breach now in our Fortunes made
Clif. But that my Heart's on future mischief fet, I would fpeak Blafphemy e'er bid you fly; But fly you muft: Uncurable difcomfit Reigns in the Hearts of all our present Parts. Away for your relief, and we will live To fee their Day, and them our Fortune give. Away my Lord, away. [Exeunt Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard Plantagenet, War wick, and Soldiers, with Drum and Colours. York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, That Winter Lion, who in Rage forgets Aged Contufions, and all brush of time: And like a Gallant in the brow of Youth, Repairs him with occafion. This happy day Is not it felf, nor have we won one Foot, If Salisbury be loft.
R. Plan. My noble Father,
Three times to day I hope him to his Horse,
Sal. Now, by my Sword, well haft thou fought to day; By th' Mafs fo did we all. I thank you Richard. God knows how long it is I have to live; And it hath pleas'd him that three times to day You have defended me from eminent Death. Well Lords, we have not got that which we have, 'Tis not enough our Foes are this time fled, Being oppofites of fuch repairing Nature.
York. I know our safety is to follow them,
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can: