SCENE V.
Open Country.
Enter the Marquis of Montague, Egbert, and other Lords of the White Rose Party, Soldiers, &c.
Mont. Cheerly, my valiant friends! the field is ours.
The scatter'd Roses of the Lancasters,
Now deeper tinted, blush a double red,
In shame of this defeat. Oh! this will much
Rejoice King Edward!—Say, has any friend
Made Henry sure?
Egbert. He is escaped alone, my lord! and Margaret,
Who, with her little son, went, hand in hand,
Hovering about the field, with anxious hope,
Ev'n to the very last; when she perceived
Her lines broke thro'—her troops almost dispersed,—
She hung upon her boy, in silent anguish,
Till the big tear dropt in his lily neck:
Then, kissing him, as by a sudden impulse,
Which mothers feel, she snatch'd him to her bosom,
And fled with her young treasure in her arms:——
Nature so spoke in't, that our very soldiers
Were soften'd at the scene, and, dull'd with pity,
Grew sluggish in pursuit.
Mont. Well, let them go:—
Their cause is, now, become so weak, and sickly,
That, tho' the head exist, to plot fresh mischief,
They will want limbs to execute,—Their House,
(Once strong and mighty,) like a a palsied Hercules,
Must, now, lament it has outlived its powers.—
Meantime, as we return, in pride of conquest,
Let us impress the minds of Englishmen
With new-won glories of the House of York.
Strike drum!—Sound trumpet!—Let the air be rent,
With high and martial songs of victory.