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thee gone.

Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas ; Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be The duke is made protector of the realm ;

forsworn. And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds York, I shall be, if I claim by open war. The trembling lamb, environed with wolves,

Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me Had I been there, which am a silly woman,

speak. The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes, York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Before I would have granted to that act.

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : Before a true and lawful magistrate, And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, That hath authority over him that swears ; Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Until that act of parliament be repealed,

Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Whereby my son is disinherited.

Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace, Within whose circuit is Elysium, And utter ruin of the house of York.

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Thus do I leave thee : - Come, son, let's away;

Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, Qur army's ready; come, we'll after them. Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed K. Her. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. speak.

York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already i get Brother, thou shalt to London presently,

And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, me ?

And tell him privily of our intent. 6. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, Prince. When I return with victory from the field, With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise : I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.

(Eseunt QUEEN MARGARET and the Prince. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to But that I seek occasion how to rise ; her son,

And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! Nor any of the house of Lancaster ?
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,

Enter a Messenger
Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle, But, stay; What news ? why com'st thou in such
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son!

post? The loss of those three lords torments my heart : Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ;.

lords, Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger,

Intend here to besiege you in your castle : Er. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; (Exeunt. And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, SCENE II.- A Room in Sandal Castle, near

that we fear them? Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; –

My brother Montague shall post to London : Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MontagUE.

Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me

Whom we have left protectors of the king, leave.

With powerful policy strengthen themselves, Edo. No, I can better play the orator.

And trust not simple Henry, nor bis oaths. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not :

And thus most humbly I do take my leave, [E.cit. Enter YORK. York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a

Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh MORTIMER. strife?

York. Şir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine What is your quarrel ? how began it first ?

uncles ! Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; York. About what?

The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Rich. About that which concerns your grace, Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the and us;

field. The crown of England, father, which is yours. York, What, with five thousand men ?

York. Mine, boy ? not till king Henry be dead. Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or A woman's general; what should we fear ? death.

(A march afar of Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,

order ; It will outrun you, father, in the end.

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign. York. Five men to twenty !-- though the odds be Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be

broken :

I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. Many a battle have I won in France,


When as the enemy hath been ten to one ;

SCENE IV. - The same. Why should I not now have the like success ? [Alarum.

Alarum. Enter YORK.

York. The army of the queen hath got the field : SCENE III. - Plains near Sandal Castle. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

And all my followers to the eager foe Alarums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND, and his Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, Tutor.

Or lambs pursu'd by hungry starved wolves. Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands! My sons - God knows, what hath bechanced them : Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes !

But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves

Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. And thrice cried, — Courage, father ! fight it out !
As for the brat of this accursed duke,

And full as oft came Edward to my side, Whose father slew my father, - he shall die. With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.

In blood of those that had encounter'd him: Clif. Soldiers, away with him.

And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Tul. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent child, Richard cried, -Charge! and give no foot of ground ! Lest thou be hated both of God and man.

And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! (Erit

, forced off by Soldiers. A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre ! Clif. How now! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear, With this, we charg'd again : but, out, alas! That makes him close his eyes ? - I'll open them. We bodg'd again ; as I have seen a swan

Rul. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch With bootless labour swim against the tide, That trembles under his devouring paws:

And spend her strength with over-matching waves. And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;

(A short alarum uitkin. And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder, Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue ; Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ; The sands are number'd, that make up my life; I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,

Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. Clif. In vain thou speak’st, poor boy; my father's


LAND, and Soldiers.
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should Come, bloody Clifford,—rough Northumberland, -

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage ;
Rul. Then let my father's blood open it again; I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, Were not revenge sufficient for me;

With downright payment, show'd unto my father. No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,

Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

And made an evening at the noontide prick. It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. York. My ashes, as the phenix, may bring forth, The sight of any of the house of York

A bird that will revenge upon you all : Is as a fury to torment my soul ;

And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, And till I ruot out their accursed line,

Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

Why come you not! what! multitudes, and fear? Therefore

[Lifting his hand. Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no furRub. O, let me pray before I take my death:

ther; To the pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

So dores do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Rul. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, Clif. Thy father hath.

And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: Rut.

But 'twas ere I was born. And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowarLest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,

dice, He be as miserably slain as I.

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this Ah, let me live in prison all my days;

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; And when I give occasion of offence,

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

[Drar Clif. No cause?

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

[CLIFFORD stabs him. I would prolong awhile the traitor's life: Rul. faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuce ! Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

[Dies. North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour tum so Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet !

much, And Unis thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,

What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. For one to thrust his hand between bis teeth,

(Exit. When he might spurn him with his foot away?


me ?



It is war's prize to take all vantages ;

Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem; [They lay hands on York, who struggles. Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ;

(York is taken prisoner. | Unless the adage must be verified, York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer’s That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. booty;

"Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small : North. What would your grace have done unto 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd ; him now?

The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; berland,

The want thereof makes thee abominable :
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here; Thou art as opposite to every good,
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, As the Antipodes are unto us,
Yet parted but the shadow with his band. –

Or as the south to the septentrion.
What! was it you that would be England's king ? 0, tiger's beart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
Was't you, that revell’d in our parliament,

How could’st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
And made a preachment of your high descent ? To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
Where are your mess of sons, to back you now? And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible ;
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, Bid'st thou me rage? why now thou hast thy wish:
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ?

Look, York; I staind this napkin with the blood For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy:

These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; And, if thine eyes can water for his death,

And every drop cries vengeance for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false FrenchAlas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state.

North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, I pr’ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. York. That face of his the hungry cannibals What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?

blood : Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 0, ten times more, -than tigers of Hyrcania. Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, A crown for York ;-— and, lords, bow low to him. And I with tears do wash the blood away. Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : (Putting a paper crown on his head.

[He gives back the handkerchief. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!

And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair ; Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ; And this is he was his adopted heir.

Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, But how is it, that great Plantagenet

And say, - Alas, it was a piteous deed ! Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my As I bethink me, you should not be king, Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! And rob his temples of the diadem,

Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; Now in his life, against your holy oath ?

My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 0, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable !

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, Op with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; I should not for my life but weep with him, And, wbilst we brea:he, take time to do him dead. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Qi Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord NorthQ. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes.

umberland ? York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves Think but upon the wrong he did us all, of France,

And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,


[Stabbing him. To triumph like an Amazonian trull,

Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted Lpon their woes, whom fortune captivates ?


(Stabbing him. But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,

York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. ! would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush :

(Dies. Io tell thee whence thou cam’st, of whom deriv'd, Q. Mar. Off with his lead, and set it on York Were shame enough to sbame thee, wert thou not

gates ; shameless,

So York may overlook the town of York. (Ereunt.

curse ;



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SCENE I. - A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in By many hands your father was subdu'd;

But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm

Of unrelerting Clifford, and the queen : Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their

Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high despite ; Forces, marching.

Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept, Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; | The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ; Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; They took his head, and on the gates of York Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard They set the same ; and there it doth remain, The bappy tidings of his good escape.

The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. How fares my brother? why is he so sad ?

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! Where our right valiant father is become.

O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain I saw him in the battle range about;

The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;

Now my soul's palace is become a prison : Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs ; Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, Might in the ground be closed up in rest : The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.

For neyer henceforth shall I joy again, So far'd our father with his enemies ;

Never, O never, shall I see more joy. • So fled his enemies my warlike father ;

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning licert: See how the morning opes her golden gates, Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, How well resembles it the prime of youth, Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love' And burn me up with flames, that tears would quences

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ? To weep, is to inake less the depth of grief:

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge for me.Not separated with the racking clouds,

Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.

Or die renowned by attempting it. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, Edw. His name that valian: duke hath left with As if they "ow'd some league inviolable :

thee; Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. His dukedom and his chair with me is left. In this the heaven figures some event.

Rich. Nay, if thou be what princely eagle's binh : Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst die sun: beard of.

For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom sosi I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;

Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds,

March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, Reille Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,

Forces. And over-shine the earth, as this the world.

War. How now, fair lords? What fare? mbelea Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

news abroad? Upon my target three fair shining suns.

* Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ; - by your Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, leave I speak it,

Stab poniards in our flesh, till ail were told, You love the breeder better than the male.

The words would add more anguish than the wounds Enter a Messenger.

O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenait But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redempion, * Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on,

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: When as the noble duke of York was slain,

And now, to add more measure to your woes, Your princely father, and my loving lord.

I come to tell you things since then befall'u.. Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too After the bloody fray at Wakefield foughi, much.

Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Mess. Environed he was with many foes; Were brought me of your loss, and luis depart. And stood against them, as the hope of Troy I then in London, keeper of the king, Against the Greeks, that would have enter': Troy. Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

And very well appointed, as I thought, And many strokes, though with a little axe, March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.


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Nurnbering our Ave-Maries with our beads ?
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
Hare wrought the easy melting king like wax,
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,

Bearing the king in my behalf along :

With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, For by my scouts I was advertised,

Amongst the loving Welchman canst procure, That she was coming with a full intent

Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, To dash our late decree in parliament,

Why, Via! to London will wé mareh amain; Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. And once again bestride our foaming steeds, Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met, And once again cry Charge upon our foes! Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : But never once again turn back, and fly. But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen;

speak : That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, Or whether 'twas report of her success;

That cries - Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; Who thunders to his captives — blood and death, And when thou fallist (as God forbid the hour!) I cannot judge : but, to conclude with trath, Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! Their weapons like to lightning came and went; War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; Our soldiers like the night-owl's lazy flight, The next degree is, England's royal throne : Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,

For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. In every borough as we pass along; I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,

And he that throws not up his cap for joy, With promise of high pay, and great rewards : Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, King Edward, valiant Richard, - Montague, And we, in them, no hope to win the day,

Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, So that we fled: the king, unto the queen ;

But sound the trumpets, and about our task. Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ;

steel, For in the marches here, we heard, you were, (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds) Making another head to fight again.

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Edw. Then strike up, drums ; - God, and Saint Warwick ?

George, for us ! And when came George from Burgundy to England ?

Enter a Messenger. War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers :

War. How now? what news? And for your brother, he was lately sent

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, The queen is coming with a puissant host; With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

And craves yo

company for speedy counsel. Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick War. Why, then it sorts, brave warriors : Let's


[Ereuni. Oft have I lieard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er, till now, his scandal jf retire.


Before York. Wer. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou Enter King Henry, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine

or Wales, . CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, Can pluck the diarlem from faint Henry's head,

with Forces. And wring the awful scepter from his fist;

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town Were he as famous and as bold in war,

of York. As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me That sought to be encompass'd with your crowa:

Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ? Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?

their wreck; Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, To see this sight, it irks my very soul. And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault,

Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.
Or shall we ou the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity

And harmful pity must be laid aside.
Ay, and to it, lords. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick ?
And therefore comes my brother Montague.

Not his, that spoils her young before her face. The proud insulting queen, Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?

Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; He swore consent to your succession,

And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows :
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ;
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.

Aled :



If for the last, say,


Attend me, lords.

His oath enrolled in the parliament;

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