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;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.
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, 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.
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? 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:
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, 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. 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 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, 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.
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, 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 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 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 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:
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:
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. 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? 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! 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, 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.
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;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 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;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, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
