WARWICK | |
Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, | 5 |
| | And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? | |
| | Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, | |
| | My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. | |
| | That I must yield my body to the earth | |
| | And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. | 10 |
| | Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, | |
| | Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, | |
| | Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, | |
| | Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree | |
| | And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. | 15 |
| | These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, | |
| | Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, | |
| | To search the secret treasons of the world: | |
| | The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, | |
| | Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; | 20 |
| | For who lived king, but I could dig his grave? | |
| | And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow? | |
| | Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! | |
| | My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. | |
| | Even now forsake me, and of all my lands | 25 |
| | Is nothing left me but my body's length. | |
| | Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? | |
| | And, live we how we can, yet die we must. | |
| | [Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET] |
WARWICK | |
Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague, | |
| | If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand. | |
| | And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! | 35 |
| | Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst, | |
| | Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood | |
| | That glues my lips and will not let me speak. | |
| | Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. | |
SOMERSET | |
Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last; | 40 |
| | And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, | |
| | And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' | |
| | And more he would have said, and more he spoke, | |
| | Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, | |
| | That mought not be distinguished; but at last | 45 |
| | I well might hear, delivered with a groan, | |
| | 'O, farewell, Warwick!' | |
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