RICHARD | |
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? | |
| | Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, | 15 |
| | Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; | |
| | And in the very pangs of death he cried, | |
| | Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, | |
| | 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' | |
| | So, underneath the belly of their steeds, | 20 |
| | That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, | |
| | The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. | |
WARWICK | |
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, | 25 |
| | Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; | |
| | And look upon, as if the tragedy | |
| | Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? | |
| | Here on my knee I vow to God above, | |
| | I'll never pause again, never stand still, | 30 |
| | Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine | |
| | Or fortune given me measure of revenge. | |
EDWARD | |
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; | |
| | And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! | |
| | And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, | 35 |
| | I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, | |
| | Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, | |
| | Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands | |
| | That to my foes this body must be prey, | |
| | Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, | 40 |
| | And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! | |
| | Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, | |
| | Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. | |
GEORGE | |
Yet let us all together to our troops, | |
| | And give them leave to fly that will not stay; | 50 |
| | And call them pillars that will stand to us; | |
| | And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards | |
| | As victors wear at the Olympian games: | |
| | This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; | |
| | For yet is hope of life and victory. | 55 |
| | Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. | |
| | [Exeunt] |
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