| ACT II SCENE I | A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. | |
| [A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power] |
| EDWARD | I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, |
| Or whether he be 'scaped away or no |
| From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: |
| Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; |
| Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; | 5 |
| Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard |
| The happy tidings of his good escape. |
| How fares my brother? why is he so sad? |
| RICHARD | I cannot joy, until I be resolved |
| Where our right valiant father is become. | 10 |
| I saw him in the battle range about; |
| And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. |
| Methought he bore him in the thickest troop |
| As doth a lion in a herd of neat; |
| Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, | 15 |
| Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, |
| The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. |
| So fared our father with his enemies; |
| So fled his enemies my warlike father: |
| Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. | 20 |
| See how the morning opes her golden gates, |
| And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! |
| How well resembles it the prime of youth, |
| Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! |
| EDWARD | Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? | 25 |
| RICHARD | Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; |
| Not separated with the racking clouds, |
| But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. |
| See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, |
| As if they vow'd some league inviolable: | 30 |
| Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. |
| In this the heaven figures some event. |
| EDWARD | 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. |
| I think it cites us, brother, to the field, |
| That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, | 35 |
| Each one already blazing by our meeds, |
| Should notwithstanding join our lights together |
| And over-shine the earth as this the world. |
| Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear |
| Upon my target three fair-shining suns. | 40 |
| RICHARD | Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, |
| You love the breeder better than the male. |
[Enter a Messenger] |
| But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell |
| Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? |
| Messenger | Ah, one that was a woful looker-on | 45 |
| When as the noble Duke of York was slain, |
| Your princely father and my loving lord! |
| EDWARD | O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. |
| RICHARD | Say how he died, for I will hear it all. |
| Messenger | Environed he was with many foes, | 50 |
| And stood against them, as the hope of Troy |
| Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. |
| But Hercules himself must yield to odds; |
| And many strokes, though with a little axe, |
| Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. | 55 |
| By many hands your father was subdued; |
| But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm |
| Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, |
| Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, |
| Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, | 60 |
| The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks |
| A napkin steeped in the harmless blood |
| Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: |
| And after many scorns, many foul taunts, |
| They took his head, and on the gates of York | 65 |
| They set the same; and there it doth remain, |
| The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
|
| EDWARD | Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, |
| Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. |
| O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain | 70 |
| The flower of Europe for his chivalry; |
| And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, |
| For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. |
| Now my soul's palace is become a prison: |
| Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body | 75 |
| Might in the ground be closed up in rest! |
| For never henceforth shall I joy again, |
| Never, O never shall I see more joy! |
| RICHARD | I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture |
| Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: | 80 |
| Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; |
| For selfsame wind that I should speak withal |
| Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, |
| And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. |
| To weep is to make less the depth of grief: | 85 |
| Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me |
| Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, |
| Or die renowned by attempting it. |
| EDWARD | His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; |
| His dukedom and his chair with me is left. | 90 |
| RICHARD | Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, |
| Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: |
| For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; |
| Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. |
| [March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army] |
| WARWICK | How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? | 95 |
| RICHARD | Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount |
| Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance |
| Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, |
| The words would add more anguish than the wounds. |
| O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! | 100 |
| EDWARD | O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, |
| Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, |
| Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. |
| WARWICK | Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; |
| And now, to add more measure to your woes, | 105 |
| I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. |
| After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, |
| Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, |
| Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, |
| Were brought me of your loss and his depart. | 110 |
| I, then in London keeper of the king, |
| Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, |
| And very well appointed, as I thought, |
| March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, |
| Bearing the king in my behalf along; | 115 |
| For by my scouts I was advertised |
| That she was coming with a full intent |
| To dash our late decree in parliament |
| Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. |
| Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met | 120 |
| Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: |
| But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, |
| Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, |
| That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; |
| Or whether 'twas report of her success; | 125 |
| Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, |
| Who thunders to his captives blood and death, |
| I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, |
| Their weapons like to lightning came and went; |
| Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, | 130 |
| Or like an idle thresher with a flail, |
| Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. |
| I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, |
| With promise of high pay and great rewards: |
| But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, | 135 |
| And we in them no hope to win the day; |
| So that we fled; the king unto the queen; |
| Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, |
| In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: |
| For in the marches here we heard you were, | 140 |
| Making another head to fight again. |
| EDWARD | Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? |
| And when came George from Burgundy to England? |
| WARWICK | Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; |
| And for your brother, he was lately sent | 145 |
| From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, |
| With aid of soldiers to this needful war. |
| RICHARD | 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: |
| Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, |
| But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. | 150 |
| WARWICK | Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; |
| For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine |
| Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, |
| And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, |
| Were he as famous and as bold in war | 155 |
| As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. |
| RICHARD | I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: |
| 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. |
| But in this troublous time what's to be done? |
| Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, | 160 |
| And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, |
| Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? |
| Or shall we on the helmets of our foes |
| Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? |
| If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. | 165 |
| WARWICK | Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; |
| And therefore comes my brother Montague. |
| Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, |
| With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, |
| And of their feather many more proud birds, | 170 |
| Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. |
| He swore consent to your succession, |
| His oath enrolled in the parliament; |
| And now to London all the crew are gone, |
| To frustrate both his oath and what beside | 175 |
| May make against the house 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 Welshmen canst procure, | 180 |
| Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, |
| Why, Via! to London will we march amain, |
| And once again bestride our foaming steeds, |
| And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' |
| But never once again turn back and fly. | 185 |
| RICHARD | Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: |
| Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, |
| That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. |
| EDWARD | Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; |
| And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- | 190 |
| Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! |
| WARWICK | No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: |
| The next degree is England's royal throne; |
| For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd |
| In every borough as we pass along; | 195 |
| 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 sound the trumpets, and about our task. | 200 |
| RICHARD | Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, |
| As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, |
| I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. |
| EDWARD | Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! |
| [Enter a Messenger] |
| WARWICK | How now! what news? | 205 |
| Messenger | The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, |
| The queen is coming with a puissant host; |
| And craves your company for speedy counsel. |
| WARWICK | Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. |
[Exeunt] |
The Essential Student History Quiz (with answers and illustrations)