To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

Withhold revenge, dear God—’tis not my fault,

Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

CLIFFORD

My gracious liege, this too much lenity

And harmful pity must be laid aside.

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

Not his that spoils her young before her face.

Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting?

Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,

And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.

He, but a duke, would have his son a king,

And raise his issue like a loving sire;

Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,

Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

Which argued thee a most unloving father.

Unreasonable creatures feed their young,

And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes,

Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

Who hath not seen them, even with those wings

Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,

Make war with him that climbed unto their nest,

Offering their own lives in their young’s defence?

For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

Were it not pity that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault,

And long hereafter say unto his child

‘What my great-grandfather and grandsire got

My careless father fondly gave away’?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy,

And let his manly face, which promiseth

Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart

To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

KING HENRY

Full well hath Clifford played the orator,

Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me—didst thou never hear

That things ill got had ever bad success?

And happy always was it for that son

Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?

I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,

And would my father had left me no more.

For all the rest is held at such a rate

As brings a thousandfold more care to keep

Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know

How it doth grieve me that thy head is here.

QUEEN MARGARET

My lord, cheer up your spirits—our foes are nigh,

And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood to our forward son.

Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.

Edward, kneel down.

Prince Edward kneels

KING HENRY

Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight—

And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE EDWARD (rising)

My gracious father, by your kingly leave,

I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown,

And in that quarrel use it to the death.

CLIFFORD

Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER

Royal commanders, be in readiness—

For with a band of thirty thousand men

Comes Warwick backing of the Duke of York;

And in the towns, as they do march along,

Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.

Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

CLIFFORD (to King Henry)

I would your highness would depart the field—

The Queen hath best success when you are absent.

QUEEN MARGARET (to King Henry)

Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

KING HENRY

Why, that’s my fortune too—therefore I’ll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Be it with resolution then to fight.

PRINCE EDWARD (to King Henry)

My royal father, cheer these noble lords

And hearten those that fight in your defence.

Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ‘Saint George!’

March. Enter Edward Duke of York, the Earl of

Warwick, Richard, George, the Duke of Norfolk, the

Marquis of Montague, and soldiers

EDWARD

Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,

And set thy diadem upon my head—

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET

Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms

Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD

I am his king, and he should bow his knee.

I was adopted heir by his consent.

GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

Since when his oath is broke—for, as I hear,

You that are king, though he do wear the crown,

Have caused him by new act of Parliament

To blot our brother out, and put his own son in.

CLIFFORD And reason too—

Who should succeed the father but the son?

RICHARD

Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

CLIFFORD

Ay, crookback, here I stand to answer thee,

Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD

’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD

Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD

For God’s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK

What sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET

Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you

speak?