NORTHUMBERLAND.
Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
YORK.
That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood;
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears.
This cloth thou dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;
And if thou tell’st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears
And say “Alas, it was a piteous deed.”
There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world,
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
QUEEN MARGARET.
What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
CLIFFORD.
Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death.
[Stabbing him.]
QUEEN MARGARET.
And here’s to right our gentle-hearted king.
[Stabbing him.]
YORK.
Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.
[Dies.]