ACT 11. SCENE I. A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in' Herefordshire. Drums. Enter EDWARD, and RICHARD, with their Forces, marching. * Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; * Or whether he be 'scap'd 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 'scap'd, 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 resolv'd 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; 6 Methought, he bore him -] i. e. he demeaned himself. And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!) Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course. * How well resembles it the prime of youth, * Edw. "Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; * 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 foretel '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. 8the racking clouds,] i. e, the clouds in rapid, tumultuary motion. 9 - blazing by our meeds,] Meed here means merit. O, speak no more!] The generous tenderness of Edward, and savage fortitude of Richard, are well distinguished by their different reception of their father's death. JOHNSON. ، Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. * And stood against them as the hope of Troy * And many strokes, though with a little axe, By many hands your father was subdu'd; 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. Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!* O Clifford, boist'rous 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 : '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 bur den; 2 the hope of Troy -] Hector. VOL. VI. D * 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: * then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for me! 'Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, '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 : March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with Forces. War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad? Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should re- Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, 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 drown'd these news in tears: And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things since then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 4 I then in London, keeper of the king, March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along : Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George fom Burgundy to England? War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers: |