*Edw. 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?.
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;

6

And watched 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 encompassed round with dogs;
*Who having pinched 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,
*Trimmed like a younker, prancing to his love!

1

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;"

1 Prize is here again used for estimation.

2 This circumstance is mentioned both by Hall and Holinshed. "At which tyme the sun (as some write) appeared to the earl of March like three sunnes, and sodainely joyned altogether in one; upon whiche sight

Not separated with the racking clouds,1
But severed in a pale, clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vowed some league inviolable;
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.

* Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

2

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 overshine the earth, as this the world.
'Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair-shining suns.

Rich. 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?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
*Your princely father, and my loving lord.

Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too
much.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. • Mess. Environed he was with many foes;

*And stood against them as the hope of Troy

*

Against the Greeks, that would have entered Troy.

* But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

* And many strokes, though with a little axe,

hee tooke such courage, that he fiercely setting on his enemyes put them to flight; and for this cause menne ymagined that he gave the sun in his full bryghtnesse for his badge or cognizance.-Holinshed.

1 i. e. the clouds floating before the wind like a reek or vapor. This verb, though now obsolete, was formerly in common use; and it is now provincially common to speak of the rack of the weather.

2 Meed anciently signified merit as well as reward.

Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.

By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughtered by the ireful arm 'Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen :

Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite ; Laughed 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 viewed.

Edw. 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 vanquished him, *For, hand to hand, he would have vanquished 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.

' Rich. 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 burden; *For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,

* Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,

*And burn 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,

6

Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. 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 and MONTAGUE, with Forces.1

War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad?

Rich. 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.

Edw. O, Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears;
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befallen.
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,

Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,

Marched towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen,
Bearing the king in my behalf along;
For by my scouts I was advértised,
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 Albans met,
Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought;
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who looked full gently on his warlike queen,
That robbed my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigor,
Who thunders to his captives-blood and death,
I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

1 This meeting was at Chipping Norton, according to W. Wyrcester p. 488.

Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,—
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheered 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,
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,
Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle
Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the

soldiers;

And for your brother, he was lately sent

From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.2

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.

War. 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, Aş he is famed for mildness, peace, and Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not;

prayer.

1 The ages of the duke of York's children will show how far historic truth is departed from in the present play. The battle of Wakefield was fought on the 29th of December, 1460, when Edward was in his nineteenth year, Rutland in his eighteenth, George of York, afterwards duke of Clarence, in his twelfth, and Richard only in his ninth year.

2 This circumstance is not warranted by history. Clarence and Gloster (as they were afterwards created) were sent into Flanders immediately after the battle of Wakefield, and did not return until their brother Edward had got possession of the crown. The duchess of Burgundy was not their aunt, but a third cousin.