Rich. Fie, Charitie for shame, speake not in spight,
For you shall sup with Iesu Christ to night
Yo.Clif. Foule stygmaticke that's more then thou
canst tell
Ric. If not in heauen, you'l surely sup in hell.
Exeunt.
Enter Warwicke.
War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwicke calles:
And if thou dost not hide thee from the Beare,
Now when the angrie Trumpet sounds alarum,
And dead mens cries do fill the emptie ayre,
Clifford I say, come forth and fight with me,
Proud Northerne Lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwicke is hoarse with calling thee to armes.
Enter Yorke.
War. How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot
Yor. The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed:
But match to match I haue encountred him,
And made a prey for Carrion Kytes and Crowes
Euen of the bonnie beast he loued so well.
Enter Clifford.
War. Of one or both of vs the time is come
Yor. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chace
For I my selfe must hunt this Deere to death