PRINCE EDWARD.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence.
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry “Saint George!”
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers.
EDWARD.
Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace
And set thy diadem upon my head,
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
QUEEN MARGARET.
Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
EDWARD.
I am his king, and he should bow his knee.
I was adopted heir by his consent.
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
You that are king, though he do wear the crown,
Have caused him by new act of Parliament
To blot out me and put his own son in.
CLIFFORD.
And reason too:
Who should succeed the father but the son?
RICHARD.
Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!
CLIFFORD.
Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee,
Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.
RICHARD.
’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?
CLIFFORD.
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.