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 heated spleen,

Or whether ’twas report of her success,

Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigour—

Who thunders to his captains blood and death—

I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

Our soldiers’, like the night-owl’s lazy flight,

Or like an idle thresher 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.

EDWARD

Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK

Some six miles off the Duke is with his soldiers;

And for your brother—he was lately sent

From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

RICHARD

‘Twas odd belike when valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

But ne’er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK

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 aweful sceptre from his fist,

Were he as famous and as bold in war

As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.

RICHARD

I know it well, Lord Warwick—blame me not.

‘Tis love I bear thy glories make me speak.

But in this troublous time what’s to be done?

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

Numb’ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?

Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the last, say ‘ay’, and to it, lords.

WARWICK

Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,

And therefore comes my brother Montague.

Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen,

With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,

And of their feather many more proud birds,

Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.

(To Edward) He swore consent to your succession,

His oath enrolled in the Parliament.

And now to London all the crew are gone,

To frustrate both his oath and what beside

May make against the house of Lancaster.

Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.

Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,

With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,

Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand,

Why, via, to London will we march,

And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

And once again cry ‘Charge upon. our foes—

But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD

Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.

Ne‘er may he live to see a sunshine day

That cries ‘retire if Warwick bid him stay.

EDWARD

Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,

And when thou fail’st—as God forbid the hour—

Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend I

WARWICK

No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;

The next degree is England’s royal throne—

For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed

In every borough as we pass along,

And he that throws not up his cap for joy,

Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague—

Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,

But sound the trumpets and about our task.

RICHARD

Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,

As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.

EDWARD

Then strike up drums—God and Saint George for us!

Enter a Messenger

WARWICK How now? What news?

MESSENGER

The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me

The Queen is coming with a puissant host,

And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK

Why then it sorts. Brave warriors, let’s away.

⌈March.⌉ Exeunt

2.2 ⌈York’s head is thrust out, above⌉ Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Lord Clifford, the Earl of Northumberland, and young Prince Edward, with a drummer and trumpeters

QUEEN MARGARET

Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy

That sought to be encompassed with your crown.

Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY

Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck.