NORTHUMBERLAND.
Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
CLIFFORD.
Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm
With downright payment showed unto my father.
Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick.
YORK.
My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all;
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? What, multitudes, and fear?
CLIFFORD.
So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.
YORK.
O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o’errun my former time;
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
CLIFFORD.
I will not bandy with thee word for word,
But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes
I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life.
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war’s prize to take all vantages,
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
[They lay hands on York, who struggles.]
CLIFFORD.
Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.