YORK.
I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee?
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look.
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again.
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
CLIFFORD.
This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
But thou mistakes me much to think I do.
To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad?
KING HENRY.
Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour
Makes him oppose himself against his king.
CLIFFORD.
He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
And chop away that factious pate of his.
QUEEN MARGARET.
He is arrested, but will not obey;
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
YORK.
Will you not, sons?
EDWARD.
Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
RICHARD.
And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
CLIFFORD.
Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
YORK.
Look in a glass, and call thy image so.
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
That with the very shaking of their chains
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs.
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.