And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel down : Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face. Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend; This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, whiles thy head is warm, and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours. War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes ! Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! [OXFORD and his Forces enter the City. Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. K. Edw. So other foes may set upon backs. Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt, our War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours. Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! [He and his Forces enter the City. Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall by this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory : My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! [He and his Forces enter the City. Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somer set, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours. War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this means? [Taking the red rose out of his cap. Look here, I throw my infamy at thee: I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, VOL VIII. 7 That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. like. War. O passing traitor, perjured, and unjust! K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. Lords, to the field! Saint George and victory! [March. Exeunt. SCENE II.—A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarums and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing in WARWICK, wounded. K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick? That I must yield my body to the earth, tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun To search the secret treasons of the world: The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who lived king but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile when Warwick be: t his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! And, live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET. Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, We might recover all our loss again. The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; Even now we heard the news: ah, couldst thou fly! War. Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Mon tague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath brhed his last; And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, That mought not be distinguish'd; but, at last, I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, 0, Farewell, Warwick! War. Sweet rest his scul! |