CLIFFORD | |
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, | |
| | Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. | |
| | O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow | |
| | More than my body's parting with my soul! | |
| | My love and fear glued many friends to thee; | 5 |
| | And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. | |
| | Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, | |
| | The common people swarm like summer flies; | |
| | And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? | |
| | And who shines now but Henry's enemies? | 10 |
| | O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent | |
| | That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, | |
| | Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! | |
| | And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, | |
| | Or as thy father and his father did, | 15 |
| | 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. | 20 |
| | 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: | |
| | The foe is merciless, and will not pity; | 25 |
| | For at their hands I have deserved no pity. | |
| | The air hath got into my deadly wounds, | |
| | And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. | |
| | Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; | |
| | I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. | 30 |
| | [He faints] |
| | [Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, |
| | MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers] |
EDWARD | |
Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, | |
| | And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. | |
| | Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, | |
| | That led calm Henry, though he were a king, | |
| | As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, | 35 |
| | Command an argosy to stem the waves. | |
| | But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? | |
RICHARD | |
What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard | |
| | When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. | |
| | I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, | |
| | If this right hand would buy two hour's life, | 80 |
| | That I in all despite might rail at him, | |
| | This hand should chop it off, and with the | |
| | issuing blood | |
| | Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst | |
| | York and young Rutland could not satisfy. | 85 |
WARWICK | |
Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor'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: | |
| | From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, | 90 |
| | 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 foe that hopes to rise again; | |
| | For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, | 95 |
| | Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. | |
| | First will I see the coronation; | |
| | And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, | |
| | To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. | |
EDWARD | |
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; | 100 |
| | For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, | |
| | And never will I undertake the thing | |
| | Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. | |
| | Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, | |
| | And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, | 105 |
| | Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. | |
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