Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, And till I root out their accursed line, [Lifting his hand. Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death :--To thee I pray sweet Clifford, pity me! Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? Clif. Thy father hath. Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me; Lest in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,-- Ah, let me live in prison all my days; Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. SCENE IV.-The same. Alarum. Enter YORK. York. The army of the queen hath got the field; Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind. But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves And cried,—A crown, or else a glorious tomb! With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! And spend her strength with over-matching [A short alarum within. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; waves. And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong I would not shun their fury; VOL. VIII. 2 The sands are number'd that make up my life; Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland, dare your quenchless fury to more rage; I am your butt, and I abide your shot. North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all : And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 2. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thou sand causes, I would prolong awhile the traitor's life :Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Cliff. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [YORK is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now? 2. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here: Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. [Putting a paper crown on his head. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me you should not be king Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath ? O, 'tis a fault too unpardonable! Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead Cliff. That is my office, for my father's sake. 2. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. |