[Dies.]
CLIFFORD.
Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son’s blood cleaving to my blade
Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood,
Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. The Same
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York.
YORK.
The army of the Queen hath got the field.
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back and fly like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them;
But this I know, they have demeaned themselves
Like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cried “Courage, father, fight it out!”
And full as oft came Edward to my side
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encountered him;
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried “Charge, and give no foot of ground!”
And cried “A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!”
With this we charged again; but, out, alas!
We budged again, as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide
And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
[A short alarum within.]
Ah, hark, the fatal followers do pursue,
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;
And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
The sands are numbered that makes up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince Edward and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage.
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.