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*The silver livery of advised age;
* And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus *To die in ruffian battle?-Even at this sight,
* My heart is turn'd to stone: and, while 'tis mine, * It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; * No more will I their babes: tears virginal * Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; * And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, * Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. * Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity: * Meet I an infant of the house of York, * Into as many gobbets will I cut it, * As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: * In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
'Come, thcu new ruin of old Clifford's house;
[Taking up the body.
As did Æneas old Anchises bear, 'So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; * But then Æneas bare a living load,
* Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
Enter RICHARD Plantagenet and SOMERSET, fighting, and SOMERSET is killed.
Rich. So, lie thou there ;
For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset
Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
* Sword, hold thy temper, heart, be wrathful still: * Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.
Enter King Henry, Queen MAR
GARET, and others, retreating,
Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!
* K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.
* Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight,
* Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
* To give the enemy way; and to secure us
[Alarum afar off. * If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom *Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape, * (As well we may, if not through your neglect,) * We shall to London get; where you are lov'd; * And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, * May readily be stopp'd.
Enter Young CLifford.
*Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
* I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
* But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
* Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. * Away, for your relief! and we will live
* To see their day, and them our fortune give: *Away, my lord, away!
SCENE III-Fields near Saint Albans.
Alarum: retreat. Flourish; then enter YORK, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colours.
York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him; * That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets * Aged contusions and all brush of time; * And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, * Repairs him with occasion? this happy day * Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, *If Salisbury be lost.
My noble father,
Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,
'Persuaded him from any further act:
But still, where danger was, still there I met him,'
* And like rich hangings in a homely house,
* So was his will in his old feeble body.
* But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought today;
By th' mass, so did we all.-I thank you, Richard: 'God knows, how long it is I have to live;
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 'You have defended me from imminent death.* Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: * 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, * Being opposites of such repairing nature.
York. I know, our safety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth:-
Sound, drums and trumpets;-and to London all: