Yor. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chace
For I my selfe must hunt this Deere to death
War. Then nobly Yorke, 'tis for a Crown thou fightst:
As I intend Clifford to thriue to day,
It greeues my soule to leaue thee vnassail'd.
Exit War.
Clif. What seest thou in me Yorke?
Why dost thou pause?
Yorke. With thy braue bearing should I be in loue,
But that thou art so fast mine enemie
Clif. Nor should thy prowesse want praise & esteeme,
But that 'tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason
Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword,
As I in iustice, and true right expresse it
Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both
Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly
Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes
Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for y art still,
Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will.
Enter yong Clifford.