Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me!

Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,

Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms!

CLIFFORD (Within)

Warwick, stand still; and stir not till I come.

Enter the Duke of York

WARWICK

How now, my noble lord? What, all afoot?

YORK

The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed.

But match to match I have encountered him,

And made a prey for carrion kites and crows

Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

Enter Lord Clifford

WARWICK (to Clifford)

Of one or both of us the time is come.

YORK

Hold, Warwick—seek thee out some other chase,

For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

WARWICK

Then nobly, York; ‘tis for a crown thou fight’st.

(To Clifford) As I intend, Clifford, to thrive today,

It grieves my soul to leave thee unassailed. Exit

YORK

Clifford, since we are singled here alone,

Be this the day of doom to one of us.

For know my heart hath sworn immortal hate

To thee and all the house of Lancaster.

CLIFFORD

And here I stand and pitch my foot to thine,

Vowing not to stir till thou or I be slain.

For never shall my heart be safe at rest

Till I have spoiled the hateful house of York.

Alarums. They fight. York kills Clifford

YORK

Now, Lancaster, sit sure—thy sinews shrink.

Come, fearful Henry, grovelling on thy face—

Yield up thy crown unto the prince of York. Exit

Alarums, then enter Young Clifford

YOUNG CLIFFORD

Shame and confusion, all is on the rout!

Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds

Where it should guard. O, war, thou son of hell,

Whom angry heavens do make their minister,

Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part

Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly!

He that is truly dedicate to war

Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself

Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,

The name of valour.

He sees his father’s body

O, let the vile world end,

And the premised flames of the last day

Knit earth and heaven together.

Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,

Particularities and petty sounds

To cease! Wast thou ordained, dear father,

To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve

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 turned 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, thou new ruin of old Clifford’s house,

He takes his father’s body up on his back

As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,

So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders.

But then Aeneas bare a living load,

Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

Exit with the body

5.4 ⌈Alarums again. Then enter three or four bearing the Duke of Buckingham wounded to his tent.⌉ Alarums still. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others

QUEEN MARGARET

Away, my lord! You are slow. For shame, away!

KING HENRY

Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.

QUEEN MARGARET

What are you made of? You’ll nor fight nor fly.

Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,

To give the enemy way, and to secure us

By what we can, which can no more but fly.

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 loved,

And where this breach now in our fortunes made

May readily be stopped.

Enter Young Clifford

YOUNG CLIFFORD (to King Henry)

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! Exeunt

5.5 Alarum. Retreat. Enter the Duke of York, his sons Edward and Richard, and soldiers, including a drummer and some bearing colours

YORK (to Edward and Richard)

How now, boys! Fortunate this fight hath been,

I hope, to us and ours for England’s good

And our great honour, that so long we lost

Whilst faint-heart Henry did usurp our rights.

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.

RICHARD My noble father,