Oft have I heard his praifes in pursuit,
But ne'er, till now, his fcandal of retire:

War. Nor now my fcandal, Richard, doft thou hear, For thou shalt know, this ftrong right hand of mine Can pluck the Diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful fcepter from his fift, Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace and prayer. Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick, blame me tot, 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me fpeak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numb'ring our Ave Maries with our beads? Or fhall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the laft, fay, ay; and to it, Lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to feek you out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, Lords. The proud infulting Queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the eafy melting King, like wax:
He swore confent to your fucceffion,
His oath inrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone;
To fruftrate both his oath, and what befide
May make against the houfe of Lancaster.

Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;
Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,

With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welfamen canft procure;
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
And once again beftride our foaming steeds,

And once again cry, Charge upon our foes!

But never once again turn back, and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak:

Ne'er may he live to fee a fun fhine day,

That cries, retire,--if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy fhoulder will I lean,
And when thou fail'ft, (as God forbid the hour!)
Muft Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!
War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;
The next degree is England's royal throne,
For King of England fhalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pafs along,
And he, that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown;
But found the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as fteel,
As thou haft fhewn it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Edw. Then ftrike up, drums; God and St. George for us!

Enter a Meflenger.

War. How now? what news?

Mef. The Duke of Norfolk fends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puiffant hoft;

And craves your company for speedy counsel.

8

War. Why then it forts; brave warriors, let's [Excunt omnes.

away.

* Why then it forts.] Why then things are as they fhould be.

SCENE

Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumber land, and the Prince of Wales, with Drums and Trumpets.

Queen. W Elcome, my Lord, to this brave town of

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,

That fought to be encompast with your crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my Lord?
K. Henry. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear
their wreck.

To fee this fight, it irks my very foul.

-With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious Liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid afide.
To whom do Lions caft their gentle looks?
Not to the beaft, that would ufurp their den.
Whose hand is that the foreft bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'fcapes the lurking ferpent's mortal fting?
Not he, that fets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on;
And doves will peck in fafeguard of their brood.
Ambitious Tork did level at thy crown;
Thou fmiling, while he knit his
while he knit his angry brows.
He but a Duke, would have his fon a King,
And raise his iffue, like a loving fire,
Thou being a King, bleft with a goodly fon,
Didft yield confent to difinherit him,
Which argu'd thee a moft unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
L 2

Whe

Who hath not feen them (even with thofe wings,
Which fometimes they have us'd with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their neft,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For fhame, my Liege, make them your precedent;
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy
Should lofe his birth-right by his father's fault,
And long hereafter fay unto his child,
What my great grandfather and grandfire got,
My careless father fondly gave away!

Ah, what a shame was this! look on the boy,
And let his manly face, which promifeth
Successful fortune, fteel thy melting heart

To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Henry. Full well hath Clifford plaid the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me, didft thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad fuccefs?
And happy always was it for that fon,

*Whofe father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my fon my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the reft is held at fuch a rate,

As brings a thoufand-fold more care to keep,
Than in poffeffion any jot of pleafure.

Ah, Coulin York; 'would, thy best friends did know;.
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Queen. My Lord, cheer up your fpirits, our foes are nigh;

And this foft courage makes your followers faint;
You promis'd knighthood to our forward fon,
Unfheath your fword, and dub him prefently.
Edward, kneel down.

K. Henry. Edward Plantagenet, arife a Knight; And learn this leffon, draw thy fword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as Apparent to the crown,

Alluding to a common Proverb.

And

And in that quarrel ufe it to the death.

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince.
Enter a Messenger.

Mef. Royal commanders, be in readiness;
For, with a band of thirty thousand men,
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York:
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him King; and many fly to him.
* Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

Clif. I would your highness would depart the field, The Queen hath beft fuccefs, when you are abfent. Queen. Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Henry. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

North. Be it with refolution then to fight.

Prince. My royal father, cheer thefe noble Lords, And hearten thofe that fight in your defence. Unfheath your fword, good father; cry, St. George !

SCENE IV.

March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,

And fet thy Diadem upon my head;

Or 'bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Queen. Go rate thy minions, proud infulting boy. Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy fovereign and thy lawful King?

Edw. I am his King, and he should bow his knee;

I was adopted heir by his confent;

Since when, his oath is broke, for, as I hear,
You that are King, though he do wear the crown,

Darraign] That is, range your host, put your hofts in order.