When you and I met at Saint Albans last,

Your legs did better service than your hands.

WARWICK

Then ‘twas my turn to fly—and now ‘tis thine.

CLIFFORD

You said so much before, and yet you fled.

WARWICK

’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

NORTHUMBERLAND

No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD

Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

Break off the parley, for scarce I can refrain

The execution of my big-swoll’n heart

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

CLIFFORD

I slew thy father—call’st thou him a child?

RICHARD

Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,

As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland.

But ere sun set I’ll make thee curse the deed.

KING HENRY

Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET

Defy them, then, or else hold close thy lips.

KING HENRY

I prithee give no limits to my tongue—

I am a king, and privileged to speak.

CLIFFORD

My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here

Cannot be cured by words—therefore be still.

RICHARD

Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.

By him that made us all, I am resolved

That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.

EDWARD

Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no?

A thousand men have broke their fasts today

That ne’er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

WARWICK (to King Henry)

If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

For York in justice puts his armour on.

PRINCE EDWARD

If that be right which Warwick says is right,

There is no wrong, but everything is right.

RICHARD

Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands—

For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother’s tongue.

QUEEN MARGARET

But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,

But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

Marked by the destinies to be avoided,

As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.

RICHARD

Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,

Whose father bears the title of a king—

As if a channel should be called the sea—

Sham’st thou not, knowing whence thou art

extraught,

To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

EDWARD

A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns

To make this shameless callet know herself.

Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged

By that false woman, as this king by thee.

His father revelled in the heart of France,

And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;

And had he matched according to his state,

He might have kept that glory to this day.

But when he took a beggar to his bed,

And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day,

Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him

That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France,

And heaped sedition on his crown at home.

For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride?

Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept,

And we, in pity of the gentle King,

Had slipped our claim until another age.

GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,

We set the axe to thy usurping root.

And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,

Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,

We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down,

Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

EDWARD (to Queen Margaret)

And in this resolution I defy thee,

Not willing any longer conference

Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.

Sound trumpets—let our bloody colours wave!

And either victory, or else a grave!

QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward.

EDWARD

No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay—

These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

⌈Flourish. March. Exeunt Edward and his men at one door and Queen Margaret and her men at another door⌉

2.3 Alarum. Excursions. Enter the Earl of Warwick

WARWICK

Forespent with toil, as runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe;

For strokes received, and many blows repaid,

Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.

Enter Edward, the Duke of York, running

EDWARD

Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death!

For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.

WARWICK

How now, my lord, what hap? What hope of good?

Enter George, ⌈running⌉

GEORGE

Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;

Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.

What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?

EDWARD

Bootless is flight—they follow us with wings,

And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter Richard, ⌈running⌉

RICHARD

Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

Broached with the steely point of Clifford’s lance.

And in the very pangs of death he cried,

Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,

‘Warwick, revenge—brother, revenge my death!’

So, underneath the belly of their steeds

That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood,